


Can't Take The Sky

by Fyre



Category: Firefly, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Complete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 44,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the reavers encroach on the Frontlands settlements, Ishbel French sends a message out into the verse, calling on the only man with the know-how to keep the reavers at bay. But all protection comes at a price...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In the Once Upon a Time fandom, there seems to be a glorious, madcap tendency to wander into AU territory all over the place, whether canon AU or crossover or fusion or whatever. This is one of my more eccentric ventures :)

“He could be on his way right now, papa!”

Ishbel’s papa looked down at her from the top of the ladder. He was nailing sheet metal over the windows by hand. “It’s too late, bao bei,” he said. “You sent the message out into the verse and he didn’t reply. He’s got a reputation. That kind of man doesn’t come to help people like us.” He looked back up at the nail he was working on. “No one does.”

“Moe!” The door crashed inwards. Ishbel couldn’t keep a shriek from her lips. No one would be surprised. They were all waiting. Every one of them knew they would be screaming soon enough. 

“Ston! You need to remember to knock!” she yelled.

The tall farmer’s boy shot her a surly look. “Nimen de bizui, Ish. It’s your old man I’m here to see.”

“My girl speaks for me,” her father said, climbing down from the ladder. “What do you want, Ston? Don’t you have a lot of windows to be sealing up?”

“What’s the point of shutting the windows?” Ston demanded angrily. “We have weapons. We can fight them off. I don’t want to be shut up like chickens waiting for slaughter. You called him. He didn’t come. We gotta do something.”

“What can we do?” Her father was calm in the face, but she could see he was shaking. Everyone knew the dangers of living on the edge, but so far, for more than twenty years, the Frontland settlement had gone untouched. “You’ve heard the stories. They’re not men. They’ll tear through this town and the most we can do is lock ourselves out of sight and hope they leave some of us alive.”

“Jien tah-duh guay!” Ston said fiercely. “I’m no coward! I got more guts than any of you. I’m not hiding in a basement, waiting to see if they’ll come to play hide and go seek!”

“You do that!” Ishbel snapped, putting herself between Ston and her papa. “You see how you like your guts when the reavers pull them out of you while you’re still living and breathing and eat them right in front of your face!”

“How do we know they’re even coming this way?” Ston demanded. “Your old man, he’s been trying to take charge of this town for years. And now reavers show up? Bit convenient, don’t you think?” He looked over Ishbel’s head at her father, who was silent. “Don’t even deny it, do you, old man?”

“If you had seen what reavers can do,” Ishbel’s father said, low and flat, “you wouldn’t have opened your mouth, you stupid child.” He put his hand on Ishbel’s shoulder. “You go and get the chains. We can try and seal the shutters.”

Ishbel nodded, giving Ston a last, dark glare, then ran for the door. 

Her father’s workshop was right by the house, and even though they had a basement and fitted it up for at least fifty people to hide out in, in case of reavers, she knew her father wanted to at least try to save the house as well.

She could hear them yelling at each other as she hauled the chains into a barrow, and when she pushed it out into the yard, she saw Ston storming away.

“Hwun dan,” she spat after him, trundling her barrow towards the front of the house.

Her father was standing on the step, but he didn’t even notice her. His face was white as chalk and he was staring at the sky. “Get to the basement, Ishbel!” he growled out suddenly. “Get the hell down there!”

“Come with me!”

He shook his head. “The people need to know,” he said. He vanished into the house and a second later, the sirens started wailing. 

“The basement!” he yelled at her, over the wail.

“Not without you!” she screamed back, rushing over to open the hatches. She hit the power and lit the basement like it was new year. There was power enough to last a month, food for half that and air purifiers that would keep them alive until the food ran out.

The town wasn’t big, but there were a lot of people. Some had their own basements and those who didn’t poured into speeders and skims to get to the French house. She knew her papa hated it, but the women and children got rushed in first. People yelled and pushed and screams rang out as the ship he had sighted came lower and lower.

Ishbel caught her father’s arm. “Papa! We have to go in now! Papa!”

He was staring at the sky. “Dung ee hwar,” he said, raising a hand. “It isn’t them.”

Ishbel was shaking so hard she thought she was going to be sick. “It-it isn’t?”

He shook his head. “Ship’s too small.”

She darted into the house, switching off the sirens. Screams faded and hysterical sobbing slowly quieted. Every eye turned to the sky, watching as the ship continued to descend. It was barely more than a shuttle, but had been adjusted and upgraded until it flew almost silently. 

Ishbel had seen a lot of smooth piloting in her day, but nothing like the way the ship came in to land. One second it was in the air, the next, it was on the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. It reminded her of the glittering golden dragonflies that darted around the creek in the summer: a round, narrow body with flickering, shimmering dorsal wings.

“Is… is that him?”

Her father’s arm was around her shoulders. “I think it could be, baobei,” he said, his voice hoarse, as if he was being squeezed too tight.

There was a sigil etched into the side of the vessel, but she couldn’t make it out clearly. By the time the dust cleared, the hatch was already opening, and the gathered crowds shrank back even further. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t reavers. They all knew who had been called on for aid, and to some, the reavers had sounded like the better option. 

Ishbel took a breath. She had put together the message for her papa, sent it out into the verse, in the hopes he was somewhere nearby. You had to use the right words, the right code, for him to even take notice. You had to do it all right, you had to be quick, you had to be smart, you had to catch a single raindrop in a storm.

She had done it. She had reached him. He had come. 

A man stepped out of the doorway.

He didn’t look like much: thin, not even as tall as papa, older than she expected. He was in clothes that would have looked more at home in the core, and his hair was near and clean. He didn’t even have a dash of stubble on his chin, but he must have been flying for days.

Dark eyes ran over the crowd, then picked out Ishbel and her papa.

The man started down the low ramp and towards them. He had a limp. Not much, but enough to be noticeable, and he had a stick. The way he held it made it look more like a concealed weapon than a weakness. 

“Fahng sheen,” her father murmured, releasing her to walk forward. 

It was easy for him to say, but how could she not worry?

“I see my arrival was a bit of a let down, hmm?” The man’s voice carried easily. He glanced over at the cringing villagers. “You sent me a message: Help, help, reavers are threatening. Can you save us.” His eyes flicked back to her father. “Well, the answer is yes. For a price.”

Ishbel could see her father’s hands shaking by his sides. “We sent you a promise of mining rights. This land has…”

“Yes, yes, yes,” the man known as the Skinner interrupted, raising a hand. “Gold, precious stones, all kinds of shiny useless trinkets that only serve to take up space.” He gestured to his ship with an elegant furl of his fingers. “Do you imagine I have room for a mine aboard my little castle?”

Ishbel moved closer to her father. “What do you want?” she asked quietly. “I told you everything we could offer in the message.”

His dark eyes met her blue ones. There was a flicker there, some strange and unreadable emotion. “Something… precious,” he said. “Much more so than shiny metal or rocks.” He looked back at her father. “I have a device that can protect your little town, hide you from the reavers attentions, but my price is her.”

Ishbel felt like the air had rushed from her lungs. Her? He wanted her?

“Tah mah duh hwoon dahn!” Her father stepped in front of her, snarling. “You’ll take my girl over my dead body.”

Ishbel heard the man chuckle. “Without my device, that would certainly be the case,” he said. She felt sick, light-headed. He was right. If they didn’t have something to hide them, to keep them safe, many of their people, if not all of them, would die. 

“Papa,” she said quietly. “I can go.”

“Bizui,” he said fiercely. “I lost your mother. I won’t let some piece of go-se steal you away.”

She stepped alongside him, looked up at him. “Papa, I would rather that we were both alive and the village was safe than seeing everyone die and knowing I could have done something to save them.”

“Bel,” he said quietly, looking down at her with his tired blue eyes. “Bel, you can’t do this.”

She lifted her hand to touch his cheek, then looked at the man who wanted to take her away from her home, her family, everything she knew. 

“What do you want from me?”

He smiled without showing any teeth, his eyes on her face. “I’m looking for someone with your particular skills,” he said, folding one hand over the other on the handle of his cane. “I have a… complicated network of allies and enemies. An automatic computer network can only do so much. I need a caretaker to manage my digital ventures in the verse. Someone with a clever little brain who managed to find me.”

Ishbel felt her cheeks flush. She knew her way around the databases on any machine put in front of her. It was easy. She just followed the paths of information. It was like reading a book. No one had ever thought it was worth a damn before. 

She licked her lips. “My father, my friends, my village,” she said, “they have to be safe, dong ma?”

The brown eyes studied her. “You have my word,” he said. 

“Bel,” her father protested. “Please. You can’t go with this gui sunzi!”

She turned, looked at him, and knew that if he wept, she would too. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him as tightly as she could. “Let me save you, papa,” she whispered. “Let me do something.”

He hugged her hard and fast. “Bao bei…”

“Wo ai ni, papa,” she whispered. 

He nodded against her hair. “You too, bao bei,” he replied, so softly she could barely hear. “If you can come home one day, come home.” He drew back to look her in the eyes. “My nest is too big to be empty.”

She reached up to brush a tear from his cheek. “I know, papa,” she whispered. She turned back to the Skinner, who was watching them impassively. “I will go with you.”

He inclined his head. “This is a permanent arrangement, dearie,” he said. “It’s a valuable protection I’m offering. Not something that can be returned at a moment’s notice.”

“Dong ma,” she said with a resolute nod. “I won’t change my mind. I will go with you. Forever.”

The Skinner smiled. “Deal.”


	2. Chapter 2

She got to stay long enough to see the shield put in place.

The Skinner showed her how to do it, and when it was up, it made the whole town a blackout zone on any radar. Any reaver ships scanning from atmo would just see a wasteland, not worth their time. No one to rape or eat in a wasteland, after all. 

His ship was small, so she knew she couldn’t take much. Some clothes. Tools. Her hand-built console that got her onto the cortex and into the files and accounts of people on the other side of the verse. 

The one thing she wished she didn’t have to leave behind was papa.

They had held onto each other long and hard, and she promised over and over to send him coded messages to let him know she was okay. He didn’t trust the Skinner. She knew he was always afraid of some guy coming along and hurting her. She was a little bit of a woman, and she knew he worried she could be an easy target.

“I’ll be okay, papa,” she told him, touching his cheek. “He needs me to work. He hurts me, he doesn’t get his money’s worth.”

“Shall we?” The Skinner was standing by the hatch of his ship, hands resting on top of his cane, his eyes on them. She felt her father’s hand on her shoulder, felt it squeezing, and she took a shivering breath.

“I’ll be fine, papa,” she whispered, turning and walking away from him. She didn’t know if she was saying the words for him or for her.

The Skinner stepped aside with an almost mocking little bow, gesturing for her to enter the ship, and she heard the step-step-tap of him following her up the ramp. Her vision was blurring with hot tears and she blinked hard so he wouldn’t see them. 

Behind her, she heard the hatch hissing closed.

“This way, Miss French.”

Ishbel looked around the bay. It was small, narrow, but the walls were lined with all kinds of monitors and gadgets. For a moment, her misery was forgotten as she picked out some of the most expensive and hi-tech pieces of hardware she had ever seen. The cockpit was off to her left, up a small flight of stairs, and that’s where the Skinner was headed.

She hurried after him. “Where are you taking me?”

He shot a smirk over his shoulder at her. “Let’s call it your room,” he said, leading her into a second, larger corridor, and bringing the end of his cane down on a switch low on the wall. A panel in the floor slid aside, revealing a room that must have been a storage locker.

“My room?” she said, horrified. She was small, yes, but she couldn’t live out of a closet.

He gave her a mocking little smile. “Well, it sounds a lot better than vault,” he said, pushing her firmly towards the ladder. “Down you go, dearie. I have to get us into atmo, and I wouldn’t like you wandering about while I’m occupied.”

She half-climbed, half-fell down into the narrow little chamber. “You can’t just leave me in here!” she called up at him. The hatch slammed shut above her and the lights flickered. “Hello? Hello?”

There was no reply, but she felt the vibrations of the engine rumbling to life. Ishbel sank down on the bunk, her legs shaking. So this was to be her life? Closed up in a room that was barely big enough to fit a bunk by a man with a reputation as bad as the reavers, only he did it all while wearing a suit. 

She pulled her satchel around into her lap, opened it. Her console was safely stowed with her clothing, but her most precious treasures were in the satchel: papa’s old scarf, her mom’s necklace, the dumb little rag doll that had shared her bed for her whole life.

Ishbel pressed her face to the doll’s.

“We’re gonna be okay,” she whispered. “You hear me, Meimei? We’re going to be okay, dong ma?”

It didn’t stop the raggedy dress growing dark with the tears she couldn’t keep from falling.

By the time they broke atmo and he set a course, she was calm. There was a small fresher basin wedged up in the wall, and he’d kept it supplied with water. She scrubbed her face, splashed her eyes, and hoped like hell that he wouldn’t notice she’d been crying.

The hatch hissed aside above her.

He didn’t even say anything, just left it open.

Ishbel wiped her hands on her jumpsuit, then climbed up the ladder into the corridor. The Skinner was headed towards the main body of the ship, so she followed, and stopped at the top of the staircase, watching him. 

A dozen consoles lit up as he tapped them. A folded bundle of metal rods had been unfolded into a stool, and he perched on it, running his hands over the panels. Screeds of information flooded the screens, and he looked this way and that, ignoring her entirely as he scanned over the data flooding the system.

Ishbel walked slowly down the steps, letting her boots rattle on the grate.

He didn’t turn or speak, so she approached and watched the screens. “What are you looking for?” she asked.

“Anomalies,” he replied. “I work off the grid. So do others. I need to know what my competition is and where I can cut them off.”

She watched the screens, then moved closer, laying her hands on the console. “You’re not going deep enough,” she said.

The Skinner looked at her then. His eyes were dark, intent, and he rose from the rickety stool. He unfurled one hand in the direction of the screens. “If you would be so kind, then,” he said dryly. 

Ishbel pulled the stool closer to the consoles, her eyes scanning over them. They were more hi-tech than she was used to, but when it came down to it, every console worked on the same basic principle. Her papa always said she had a way with machines. She could read them, and everything that was between the lines. She didn’t see it as a big deal. It was all right there in the code. You just had to look.

Her hands moved over the panels and controls rapidly, and she looked from screen to screen.

“Is this my job?” she asked, without glancing at him. “Hunting intel?”

“Mm.” He was so close to her, leaning over her shoulder and watching intently. “You have charge of this area: maintaining the databanks, updating the information, scanning the cortex for chatter. Oh, and targeting the weapon’s systems and firing on my order.”

Ishbel rose so sharply that the stool fell over. “No! No way! I didn’t sign on to be a killer, you sick hwun dahn!”

He was looking at her, his lips twitching. “That one was a quip, dearie,” he said. “Not serious.” He leaned closer to her, eyes gleaming. “In case you didn’t notice, this is a converted shuttle. No weapons.”

She stared at him. “Oh.”

He grinned at her, and she was so annoyed at him for looking so smug that she punched him hard on the arm. She pulled her hand back instantly, in sudden terror. After all, it was his ship, and he could do anything to her, and she had just hit him.

The Skinner glanced down at his arm, then back at her. “That was uncalled for.”

“Uncalled for?” she echoed. “You scared me!”

“If you had thought about the ship logically, you wouldn’t have been scared.”

She scowled at him. “If you hadn’t bartered for me like meat to save my family, I wouldn’t have thought you would really want me to do that!” 

She bent down and picked up the stool, unfolding the twisted rods of metal. She sat down again, looking at the console. A screen was flashing, and her heart jumped at the sight of Callisto, her own home planet. She scanned it, searched for any signs of the settlement, but the Frontlands were hidden just as he promised. 

“We made a deal, dearie,” the Skinner murmured. “I never break a deal.”

She touched the screen, tracing the curve of the planet. “Thank you,” she said quietly, unable to look him in the eyes, “for saving them.”

The Skinner was silent for a long moment. “It’s no matter,” he said finally, then waved vaguely at the consoles. “You know your duties. Familiarise yourself with the systems. I expect reports of anything that might seem suspicious or untoward.”

She nodded. “How much detail?”

“As much as you deem necessary,” he replied curtly. “I’ll be in the cockpit.”

He was halfway up the stairs when she realised there was something she had never thought to ask him.

“Wait.”

He paused, hand on the rail, but didn’t turn. 

“What do I call you?”

She heard him snort quietly, amused. “Doesn’t everyone just call me the Skinner?” he said, a mocking note in his voice.

“Well, yeah,” she said, “but that’s not a name. What do I call you?”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “Sir will do for now.”

For now.

He vanished up into the cockpit and she watched the stairs for a long moment. He could have given her a false name, but the fact he didn’t give her any made her curious. Maybe he thought she could find something on him that no one else could. Maybe he just didn’t want to make it personal between them.

Ishbel looked back at the screens.

She was stuck with him, and whether he intended it or not, she knew that she would find out his name, one way or the other.


	3. Chapter 3

Ishbel got lost in the cortex.

She always did.

There was so much to see and learn, and the Skinner’s connection was much more up-to-date than the most advanced hardware in the Frontlands. It felt like flying, with information flooding in from all over.

She didn’t know what she was looking for, not exactly, but she flagged on people who looked like they were trying to stay out of sight, people who might not want the Alliance looking in on their operations. There were hundreds of them, thousands even. 

It was only when her stomach growled that she realised she’d been working for hours without a break. She sat back from the consoles, rubbing at her eyes and smacking her dry lips together. The Skinner was nowhere to be seen, so she guessed cockpit. Her legs shook under her, but she headed up.

He was in the pilot seat, one hand resting on the controls, but she could almost believe he was asleep until he spoke.

“French?” he murmured.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jumpsuit. “I’m hungry,” she said.

He turned his chair to look at her. “I suppose I can’t starve you,” he said dryly. “That would be impractical.”

She snorted. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a jackass?”

“Not anyone I cared to leave alive,” he replied, rising from the seat. She knew it wasn’t a threat, or even serious. There was a gleam in his eye, and she had a feeling that the grumpy bastard hadn’t had someone to mess with for a while. “This way.”

She followed him back down through the ship, past the console room and towards the engine room. There was no separate galley, but it was a small ship, so they designed it with practicality in mind. It wasn’t made for comfort. It was made for fast transport. The console room must have been where the passenger bunks had been, but he didn’t want or need them.

It made her pause.

If her bunk was small, tucked down the side of one of the passages, his must be just as small as well. 

The Skinner struck a panel and a door slid open in front of them. The engine lay ahead. It hummed, a low roar, but it was bearable. 

There was a stove hooked up to the engine, which looked like it was powered by the heat generated from the engine itself. It looked like it hadn’t been touched for months. Around the walls, there were metal cupboards. No. Cupboards was a generous term. They looked like tool boxes fixed to the wall and badly-welded in place.

“You’ll be on rations for a week,” the Skinner said, flipping one of the doors open. “We need to get to one of the larger trading planets to restock on protein bars.”

“We could have brought food from home,” she said. “Papa said no man can live on plain protein bars.”

“A man can,” the Skinner said. “Keeping food fresh up here isn’t easy, little girl. Protein bars are fine on ship. Fresh food is a luxury for the land-bound.”

“Hmm.”

He opened one of the cupboards, removing a sealed bar from a small stack and tossed it to her. “You can have five cups of water from the tank per day,” he said, “no more, or we’ll have to start using the converter, and god knows I’ve drunk my own piss enough to know I never want to do it again.”

Ishbel made a face. “Five cups,” she agreed. “Got it.” She unwrapped a corner of the protein bar and took a small bite. “How much of this per day?” she asked.

“It’s medium-grade,” he replied, withdrawing a switchblade from his pocket and opening a bar for himself, cutting a finger-thick wedge off. “Three bites will cover you for about four hours. Tastes like go-se, but it was the best to hand at my last layover.”

She chewed on the lump of protein. Her mouth was so dry that it felt almost impossible to swallow. She looked around for the water tank, approaching and filling a chipped cup with water. It had probably been in the tank for days, and was warm from the proximity to the engines, but it was still the sweetest thing she had tasted.

The Skinner stood silently, watching her. 

“You want your report?” she asked finally, once she swallowed the third bite of the protein bar. 

He raised his eyebrows. “There’s enough for a report already?”

She nodded, wrapping her hands around the cup. “You’ll need to narrow your search specs,” she said. “If I’m looking for anyone flying under the radar, there are a hell of a lot of them out there. Am I looking for anyone in particular? Smugglers? Pirates? Data traders? Ship-suppliers?”

He filled a cup for himself from the tank. “I’ll know when I see it.”

She gazed silently at his back, wondering if he realised just how many people out there hated the Alliance. The rumours were that he’d been Alliance, once, but that just came from the clothes he wore, way too high class for any planet skimmer. He’d shed his coat and was only wearing a loose shirt over his pants, but the cut and the material both screamed that he had paid well for it.

He turned around, cup in hand, and seemed to notice her scrutiny. “You have questions, dearie?”

She shrugged. “You’ve got a reputation for doing the impossible,” she said, “I just don’t understand why you need me. I can research for you, but there are billions of people in the verse and I’m never going to be able to flag every bit of data that might be useful any more than you could.”

One side of his mouth turned up. “I can’t pilot the ship and gather intel, Miss French,” he said. “I’m capable of many things, but maintaining control of this vessel while sitting in the processing chamber? That may just be beyond my means.”

She took a sip of her water. “Something the mighty Skinner can’t do?” she said, well-aware she was pushing her luck. “No wonder you’re locking me in a closet. Don’t want the verse to know you can’t do everything, huh?”

Brown eyes studied her. “I think I let you out of your closet too soon,” he said dryly. 

Despite herself, she grinned at him. “Locked up or working,” she said. “Can’t have both.”

He drained his cup and set it back down. She wondered why he had two cups anyway, if he was the only person on the ship. Unless he had always known his offer would be accepted, so he brought in extra. No. Her cup was chipped, but it matched his in all other ways. They were a set. They had been there a long time. Maybe he’d had someone there before?

“Show me what you’ve found,” he said abruptly.

Ishbel hastily swallowed down the last of her water, then followed him back through the console room. His amusement had shuttered so quickly. 

She glanced at him, leaving the stool empty. He had a bad leg, and she knew she could stand, but she wasn’t surprised when he didn’t take the offered seat. She stood over the consoles instead, letting her hands dance across the keys. 

The Skinner stood silently by her side, his eyes on the screens. He was leaning on his cane and he didn’t speak as she rolled out screen after screen of data. She had no idea what it was that he was looking for, but his silence suggested that whatever it was, it wasn’t there. 

“Wait.”

Her hand froze on the keys. “What?”

He leaned closer. “Back two screens,” he said.

Ishbel flicked the switch, and the images scrolled back. 

The Skinner tapped the end of his cane on the floor. Ishbel glanced sidelong at him, watching the way his eyes flicked over the screen. Most of the data was closely packed text, switching between Chinese and English lettering. She saw the moment he realised that it wasn’t what he wanted. The skin around his eyes creased, then he straightened up.

“Continue.”

Ishbel nodded, turning her eyes back to the screens. It took nearly thirty minutes for him to scan through all the data she had collected. Some screens, he only glanced at them for a split second, while others, he would ask her to pause and would scrutinise them intently.

She tried to see the pattern in the ones he looked at. The names didn’t mean anything to her, but then she didn’t usually work with names. She was good with programmes and system codes. Sometimes, she could remember the name of a ship, but more often, she remembered it by classification and routed searches by serial numbers and hardware identification, all the data that couldn’t be changed when someone took over the ship. 

When he finally stepped back, there were furrows in his brow and he frowned at the screen.

“Keep doing what you’re doing,” he said, “but also do a filter of the data you find that relates to veterans of the war.”

Ishbel straightened up from the controls. “Which side?” she asked. 

She was too young to remember the war, but she was old enough to remember there were sides, and she was old enough to know which one her mother was on, and why her papa was shipped out to the ass end of the verse afterwards. Livia French hadn’t died in the war, but she hadn’t all come back from it either. 

“Both,” the Skinner replied. His eyes were on one of the screens, but he was looking right through it and into nothing. “Survivors on both sides had to find a new way to make ends meet when things didn’t go as they expected.”

She snorted quietly.

“You disagree?”

“Alliance paid off their vets pretty well, last I heard,” she said without looking at him. 

“Fei hua,” he said with a shake of his head. “There are more important things than money. Are you so naïve that you believe that everyone who fought for the Alliance liked what happened when they won? Do you think it became the perfect paradise they expected?”

She glowered at him. “I know it didn’t. You don’t get reavers in paradise.”

“No,” he agreed. “You don’t.”

He leaned over her shoulder, tapped several buttons. The consoles wound down into sleeper mode, and he looked at her. “You’ve had a long day, French. Get to your bunk and get some rest. You’ll need it.”

She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her jumpsuit. “You going to lock me in?”

His eyes met hers. “Not this time,” he said. “If you feel the urge to go wandering, don’t touch any of the controls in the cockpit.”

“Yessir,” she said, relieved. It had all felt too much like being closed in a tiny box last time. At least if the door was unlocked, she could pretend she had some kind of freedom. 

He waved her away and she hurried up the steps that led to the hallway. It took her a second to figure out just how to unlatch her door from the outside. It took force and she kicked it hard. The hatch fell open with a clang.

“Problems, dearie?” The Skinner’s voice drifted up from the console chamber. Unless she was mistaken, it sounded like he had just booted the machines up again. Sounded like he had something he wanted to see without her there, looking over his shoulder. 

“Just getting the door open,” she called back. She scrambled down the ladder, and threw herself onto the narrow bunk. He was right when he said she’d had a long day. Sitting at the consoles for hours had worn her out.

She groped blindly across the bunk for her rag doll, and barely even managed to kick off her boots before sleep caught up with her.


	4. Chapter 4

Riding the verse took some getting used to.

Ishbel didn't mind searching the cortex. That was what she was good at, but when she woke each morning - she made herself regulate her hours, else she knew she'd be living and breathing intel - and felt the vibration of the engines under her feet, she wished she could remember what it felt like to have good, solid dirt under her boots.

She missed fresh food as well.

On the Frontlands, they didn't have much in the ways of variety, but they had fresh food. Their orchards were earning a reputation, and more than anything, Ishbel wished she'd brought some of her papa's preserved apricots. There was a saying that the day you enjoyed your protein block was the day you had forgotten what it was to be alive. 

She was pretty sure that was an exaggeration, but the longer their journey took, she could believe it. 

They had only made one stop since the Skinner picked her up almost three weeks earlier, and it was on a planet that looked more like a desert. He got the water tanks refilled, and she wasn't allowed off-ship because the climate was treacherous. She knew he wasn't just saying it, because he wedged himself into a suit to walk planetside. When he returned, he was crisp with frost. The place was colder than the depths of space, and twice as treacherous.

When she asked why people lived there, Skinner chuckled.

"People will always settle where there's something of value," he said, as she drew water from the tank to make up some tea.

"What can you get out of an ice desert?" she asked.

Skinner looked at her for a long moment, then motioned for her to follow him back through the console room. Along with the water tanks, he'd brought in half a dozen chests with pneumatic seals against the wind. He cracked one open, then hefted the lid up, revealing shimmering red brown grains. 

"Sand?" she said, looking at him in confusion.

"A specific kind of of element that reacts to friction and heat," he corrected. "The whole planet is made up of the stuff." He picked up a tiny pinch between forefinger and thumb, closed the lid of the box, then rubbed the grains together. Ishbel exclaimed in astonishment when the grains sparked and flamed briefly. Skinner blew the brief flame out, ignoring the small blisters forming on his skin. "It takes a particular kind of vessel to use it." His eyes glinted. "It can be rather unstable."

Ishbel looked back at the engine room, and the humming engine. "That's what powers the ship?"

"In an emergency," he replied, wiping his hands on a kerchief. "I find it useful to be versatile. When you venture to the black, it's always best to be prepared."

The more time she spent on the ship, the more freely he talked to her. He never spoke about himself, but if she asked about the ship, about the verse, about where they were going, he would tell her. She wondered just how long he had been travelling on his own. It must have been a long time, if he took some pleasure in her constant questions. 

He must have been lonely, she thought.

Planet-hopping didn't leave time for forming friendships.

They ate together, more often than not. He usually would get her off the cortex long enough to share the protein bar, and she would tell him what she'd found. She still wasn't any closer to figuring out what he expected her to find, but what she was giving him must have been along the right lines. 

Despite his reputation, she could tell he wasn't a bad guy.

She knew he went where he was called, and he offered deals and trades. Nothing came for free, and the more she saw of the messages for him, calling on him, making him offers, she could see why he picked and chose so carefully. He couldn't satisfy everyone, and the things they asked for weren't easily done. There had to be a justifiably high price paid, or else everyone and their settlement would come calling. 

Ishbel sat back from the consoles one evening. Her eyes were aching, and she'd gone through more data than usual. It felt like the ideal time for something to drink. She had only had three cups so far, and she knew Skinner probably had even less.

There was only a saucepan to boil the water in, and she watched it slowly come to the boil. It made her wonder at just how tired she had to be, if watching bubbling water was enough to nearly put her to sleep. Even the cool metal of the ship's floor beneath her bare feet was doing little to keep her awake.

She added a measure of tea leaves to the pan when she took it off the boil, and leaned against the metal cupboard, waiting for it to stew. She missed her papa's kitchen, with more than one pan, two cups and a couple of dishes. It didn't feel like a home without a kitchen. The ship was just a workplace. It was all clinical and metal with protein and no flavours. The tea was the only thing that made it feel like a real, lived in place.

Ishbel strained the leaves as she poured the tea into each cup. It almost felt civilised.

She took a cup in each hand and padded through the centre of the ship, and up towards the cockpit.

Skinner was sitting in the pilot's seat, his left foot propped on the edge of the console. He's sleeves were shoved up over his elbows and he was tinkering with what looked like an engine part caught up in a tangle of wires. He didn't look up at her approach, frowning in concentration. 

"Tea," Ishbel said, sitting down on one of the covered hardware units that lined the edge of the cockpit. There wasn't room for a second seat, but the units were high enough for her to sit level with him.

He set aside the part, holding out an oil-smudged hand. She passed over the cup. "You're done for the night?"

Ishbel pulled one foot up to rest on the edge of the case, wrapping her free arm around it. "Powered down," she said. "I was having trouble seeing straight." She sipped the tea, watching him. "You taking the ship to pieces mid-flight?"

He glanced at the abandoned pile of wires and metal. "You look for information your way," he said, "I look for it mine." He picked up the metal block at the heart of the clump. "What do you see?"

She shrugged. "I thought it was a part?"

He shook his head. "A beacon," he said. "There's mapped data inside it, but the casing is sealed up tight."

Ishbel looked at it in confusion. "This ship doesn't have a beacon," she said. "Whose is it?"

Skinner gave her a look that was halfway between pleased and annoyed. She knew she'd asked the right question, and knew he wasn't to hand her the answer. "It belongs to someone who I think may be useful," he said, setting it back down. "It would show where they've been and if a pattern can be found, then so can they."

"Unless," Ishbel said between sips of tea, "they ditched the beacon and knew you would do exactly what you're doing. Maybe they're setting you on a false course."

Skinner looked at the tangled wires. "Could be," he said, "Could be they know I'm looking. Could be they might hide." He smiled suddenly over the rim of his cup, brief and unexpected, and gone as suddenly as it had appeared. "Could be they might want to be found."

"Who?" Ishbel asked quietly.

His dark eyes flicked towards her. "As I said," he replied, "someone useful."

She knew he had to be tired to have let that much expression show, and she knew better than to push. He was still her boss, and he still had the ability to lock her in her bunk. She offered him a quick smile, raising her teacup in a silent toast. "Well, when you crack that thing open, I'll do a sweep of the information on it. See if I can't dig out some pattern for you."

He raised his other foot, propping both on the console, and looked at her. "It'll take some time."

She laughed. "Not like I have any place better to be," she said. "I can wait."

He studied her, his head to one side. "You're happy here?"

She swirled the tea in her cup. "I'm not unhappy," she said, her toes curling against the edge of the case she was sitting on. "I miss my father and the Frontlands, sure, but I'm seeing a lot and learning a lot. More than I could have at home." She looked into the depths of the cup, then back at him. "I miss walking planetside. Unfiltered air. People. Hell, even the smell." She smiled briefly at him. "Know what I mean?"

One side of his mouth turned up. "More than you know," he replied. "Have you ever seen the central planets?"

"Only over the cortex," she replied, draining her cup and setting it aside. "They look beautiful."

"Most things do, from a distance," he said. He glanced at her jumpsuit and shirt. "Do you have anything else in your wardrobe?"

She snorted. "What? Now I have to dress smart for hitting the cortex?" she said, eyes dancing. 

"No," he said, "but if we're going out on Persephone, you might want to pick out something suitable."

"Wah! Persephone?" Ishbel gasped. It was one of the central planets, the one where all civilisation went, if the stories were to be believed. It was the hub of almost all galactic transport, and anyone who was anyone had to pass through Persephone some time or other. "We're going to Persephone?"

Skinner grinned. "Is that planetside enough for you?"


	5. Chapter 5

“It’s beautiful!”

Skinner looked at her. “Don’t always trust the sparkle of a bauble, dearie. Just because it looks pretty doesn’t mean it’s without flaws.”

She leaned over the back of the pilot seat, gazing out over the spread of Persephone’s docks as they descended. “You can’t just let me enjoy how amazing it is, can you?” she said. “I’ve never seen the central planets before!”

“All the same…”

“I know,” she leaned down to look him in the eye. “I know better than most that you can’t judge something on appearances.”

His eyes narrowed momentarily in confusion. “Yes. Well.” He turned his attention back to the consoles. “Go and change into the blue jumpsuit. And put your hair up. Something that suggests professional.”

Ishbel grinned, ruffling his hair and earning a profanity, as she skipped away. He wasn’t used to being teased, but she found herself enjoying it the more she did it. It was hard to be afraid of a man who knew exactly how she liked her tea, after only a few weeks together. He never stopped surprising her.

Once, she had fallen asleep over the consoles. 

He wasn’t angry. That was the first thing that surprised her. The second was that he laid out blankets on the floor and gently lifted her down to lay her on them. He couldn’t carry her to her bunk without pitching her down the ladder, so he did the next best thing and made up a small nest for her, close to the warm vents of the consoles. 

She had stirred briefly, but he smoothed her hair and told her to rest, that there was time enough to get her work done. It surprised her and reassured her to realise that he didn’t just see her as a machine there to do work. He knew she wasn’t, and he let her be tired when she was tired.

In her bunk, she shed her patchwork jumpsuit, replacing it with the cleaner blue one, with a pretty blouse underneath it. It took a little more work to get her hair to cooperate after weeks without access to enough water to wash it all, but an intricate braid hid the worst of it. Even her boots were polished to shining.

Skinner had coached her carefully. 

She knew she wasn’t meant to mention his name, but word on the cortex had spread about the daughter from the Frontlands taking up with the Skinner, so she couldn’t use her own name either, to keep his presence concealed. Dressed up in a more military jumpsuit, she wouldn’t look like an outlander from the edge of the galaxy.

Ishbel ran up the gridded stairs to the cockpit and rapped her knuckles on the back of the chair. “Will I do?” she asked, propping her hands on her hips. He had provided patches for her sleeves that showed her to be a data courier, a position which meant she would not be harassed as all couriers were known to wear security markers.

Skinner revolved his seat to look up at her. His eyes widened in surprise, which he only just managed to hide, and that made her smile in turn. “Very good, dearie,” he said. “You almost look like you could belong there.”

“What about the ship?” she asked. “Everyone can describe your ship.”

He turned his chair back around, his hands darting across the console. “You’d be surprised how easy it is to fool the eye,” he said. “You’ll see when you get your feet on the ground.”

Ishbel leaned on the back of the seat, watching as he brought them into land in a docking bay. It was strange to hear someone else’s voice coming through the receiver, after so many days with just Skinner and shaky audios from the cortex. The engine wound down and all at once, everything was still.

“That feel weird,” Ishbel decided.

“Just wait,” Skinner said, rising. “If you want, you can go out into the bay, but wait for me there. I need to put on something more appropriate.”

“Hao,” she agreed. “Can you open her up for me?”

Skinner touched a series of buttons. “The hatch is unsealed,” he said. “Don’t wander off.”

Ishbel beamed and clattered back down the stairs towards the main body of the ship. The consoles were all concealed behind secure panels, in case anyone tried to look in, and she checked that nothing looked out of place before shouldering the hatch open.

The smell hit her like a wall: dirt, oil, the burnt smell of carbon from ships that had scorched the ground beneath them, the distant smells of food. Her stomach growled at the scent of some kind of meat. 

Ishbel gave a happy whoop, not even waiting for the ramp to extend. She jumped the four feet to the ground and landed light. It felt strange to be standing on something that wasn’t vibrating beneath her feet and for a second, she felt like she was drunk. The world felt like it should be moving under her feet, but it wasn’t.

She took several steps and giggled at the thought that she must look like a newborn lamb, trying to get its balance. 

There were other ships around in the neighbouring bays, but she couldn’t see any people, so she took the chance to turn and have a good look at Skinner’s ship. She remembered what it looked like when it landed on her home: all shimmering gold like a dragonfly.

The shape was similar enough, a standard shuttle, but the colour was different. She could still see glitters of gold, but it was like the ship had scales that were catching the light in a different way. It was a dulled copper-brown. The dorsal wings had folded in somehow and looked smaller. Even the panels around the cockpit’s screen had shifted to make the panel of reinforced glass look smaller. If she had gone looking for the Skinner’s golden ship in a bay, she would never have noticed this one.

“Wa cao,” Ishbel whispered, walking around the ship. She touched the metal, as if it would explain just how they had come to land in a ship that looked nothing like the one she had boarded weeks before.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” 

She hurried back around to the hatch and stopped dead, staring at the Skinner. As different as the ship was, he was equally so. His hair was slicked back and looked darker, close to black. He had applied a convincing looking scar to his face, that cut down across his left eye, and he had left himself unshaven. 

His formal clothing was gone as well, replaced with the tunic of a combat master. She wasn’t sure which art the uniform was for, but it was enough that he would be recognised as someone that should not be trifled with. His trousers were loose over black sandals, and there was a pistol at one hip and a dagger at the other. Instead of his usual walking stick, he carried a staff, and his limp seemed less pronounced.

“What are you meant to be?” she demanded, staring at him. 

He tossed her a small pack. “Questions later, Li Mai,” he said, as she opened the pack and examined her temporary identification, and the handful of credits. “We have business to attend to.”

She glanced at the pass. Li Mai, Data Courier. She had no real reason to be following a martial arts master around, but he was letting her out of the ship, so she wasn’t about to refuse the opportunity. She fell into step alongside him, and tried not to look too impressed by everything she was seeing.

It was hard to do. Everything was so big and crowded and fascinating.

Skinner stopped at a console unit and tapped rapidly at the screen. “We’re expected,” he said, then set off through the crowd. Ishbel had to run to keep up with him, even though she wanted to just stop and stare and bask in the tastes in the air, the smells, the noise.

“Do we get to eat?” she asked, as they passed a stand grilling some kind of meat.

“Once business is done,” Skinner replied. He walked as if he knew the place well, ignoring the traders thrusting their goods into his face. She knew better than to ask what business, but if he was letting her tag along, he must figure she could be useful.

It was about half an hour before he ducked through a doorway. She followed, then yelped in alarm when her arms were caught and pinned. She was quickly searched, and could make out Skinner ahead, undergoing the same quick patdown.

“The girl’s clean,” Skinner snapped. “She’s my key-handler.”

“Mr Badger knows you can’t be too careful.” One of the thugs nudged her forward towards Skinner, who put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “This way.”

Ishbel glanced at Skinner, who didn’t seem alarmed at all. She wanted to ask if they were safe or in danger or what was going on, but his expression was grim and fixed, and she knew this was business. All she could do was follow along and hope he could keep her safe.

They were led down a staircase into a room that was trying to be luxurious but just came across as tacky. There were hangings on the wall which would have looked impressive if they hadn’t been cheap knock-offs and a man was sitting behind a desk, hands folded over his chest, a bowler hat pushed back on his head.

“Well, if it isn’t the Skinner,” he said. “You know you’re not meant to show face on my planet.”

Skinner smiled at him. “If you had any power to stop me, little man, I would listen,” he said. “You know why I’m here. And I know why you let me get this close without sending your sides of beef to threaten me.”

The man - Badger, if that was his name - scowled. He waved the thugs away, and gestured to the chairs on the opposite side of the desk. Skinner nodded to Ishbel, who sat down warily, but he remained standing. 

“A proposition has come up,” Badger said, drumming his fingers on the table. 

“Dahn rang,” Skinner said, his hand resting on the back of Ishbel’s chair. “Something out of your league?”

That made Badger scowl even more, but the proposition must have been something worth a lot because he leaned forward across the table. “I could spin you the tale of woe, lost love and all that lao shu, but fact is the boy needs to find someone, and he wants you. He’s heard a pretty tale that you can do what lawful means can’t.”

“I can be contacted directly,” Skinner said mildly. “Why did he come to you?”

Badger shrugged. “Little rich boy’s daddy keeps a very close eye on him,” he said. “Can’t even breathe on the cortex without his old man getting wind of it.” He leaned back in his seat. “He’s on the hunt for someone, someone in particular. He needs a way out and a way to find her. Girl’s an unknown. Been off-radar for months. No one knows if she’s even alive.”

Ishbel glanced up at Skinner. His expression was blank, but she could tell something was going on behind his eyes. “You say this kid is well-off?”

“Eat off gold plates kind of people,” Badger said. “His old man is high up the Alliance ladder with fingers in all the pies.”

“I want to meet this boy,” Skinner said. 

“That’s not the arrangement.”

Skinner stepped alongside Ishbel’s chair. “It is now,” he said. “You’ve done your part. Set up a meeting. You’ll get your price for it, but this boy, I want to deal with directly.”

“Your head is up your pigu if you think I’m gonna do that,” Badger snorted.

The Skinner smiled, shrugged. “Your loss,” he said. He touched Ishbel’s shoulder. “We’re done here, Li Mai.” She rose, but not before she saw the look of sudden panic on Badger’s face. It was the expression of a man watching a small fortune walk out his door. Two of his men moved to block the way.

“Wait!”

The Skinner didn’t turn, and his hand remained on Ishbel’s shoulder, squeezed. She looked at Badger. 

“The Skinner doesn’t like people messing him around,” she said. “He came for business. You aren’t cooperating.”

Badger muttered a curse. “I better get paid for this.”

The Skinner turned with a thin smile. “You know my deals are always honoured, Badger,” he said. “We’ll be planetside for forty-eight hours. If your little rich boy can get down here, put a call out. You know the code.”

He started towards the door, jerking his head for Ishbel to follow.

This time, no one tried to stop them.


	6. Chapter 6

Persephone was everything and nothing like Ishbel expected. 

After a lifetime on the fringes of the system, she had never seen anywhere so crowded. Even when all of the Frontlands got together for the annual settlement celebration, there weren't half so many people as there were in the area surrounding Persephone's docks. 

The planet wasn't as hot as her homeworld, but the air was dryer, which made the sun on her skin feel warmer. She peeled down the sleeves of her jumpsuit and tied them around her waist, then rolled up the sleeves of her blouse to let the suns warm her skin. 

There were people everywhere, and while they were waiting for Badger to contact them, Skinner let her explore. He bought them grilled meat from one of the stands in the street, rolled up in a sheet of vellum-thin bread. It wasn't luxury, but after weeks of flavourless protein, she could have eaten a case of the stuff. 

They walked from stall to stall, and she drank in all the strange sights and sounds. Some stands were selling machinery, others had fruits in various stages of ripeness. The street performers made her laugh, and she pointed out the more ostentatious clothing to Skinner.

For his part, he didn't say much, but his eyes were moving as much as her own.

She wasn't sure if he was looking for someone in particular, or just wary. The fact that he was in disguise suggested that he didn't want to be recognised, but she couldn't work out why. The Skinner had a reputation, and it was enough to keep him out of trouble. It was true that the Alliance weren't fond of him, but from what she had seen, no one was. 

By moonrise, they heard from Badger.

The young man in question was going to be in the marketplace within the hour, and only had a brief window to make contact. The Skinner fell silent, clearly thinking hard, then responded to the message with a place to meet.

"You'll be my face for this encounter," he said to Ishbel, as they wove through the marketplace.

"Me?" Ishbel squeaked.

Skinner nodded. "I want a measure of this man," he said. "I tend to put people on edge. You'll be the first point of contact. You look harmless, and I'll be close at hand. I'll provide questions you need to ask on your comm console."

"What if he doesn't believe me? What if he asks to see you?"

Skinner smiled slightly. "If he's desperate enough to go to Badger, he won't question it. If he's so desperate to find this woman of his, he'll speak to anyone who can get him to me, and if that means a pretty girl, so be it."

Ishbel felt her cheeks going pink. He thought she was pretty? "Wh-what do I need to do?"

"Do what you do on the cortex," he replied, gazing into middle-distance, a pensive look on his face. "You know the right kind of information to ask for. Get as much as you can from him about this girl of his. I'll let you know the price we're asking, offer him it, and whether he agrees or not, you tell him he has twelve hours."

"And then?"

"Then, your part is done," Skinner replied. 

"What if I do it wrong?" she asked nervously.

He looked at her, dark eyes on her face. "You won't," he said. "You're too bright for that."

She wasn't quite sure how she got from the marketplace to the meeting spot, her head light from the compliment. 

The meeting place was a bar, higher class than the dock ones, but discreet enough that trade was going on furtively in booths that lined the walls. Ishbel didn't look too closely. It was better not to be seen watching. Skinner was somewhere in the bar too. She wasn't sure where, but he would be keeping a close eye on her.

To be on the safe side, she avoided any of the alcoholic drinks, choosing a sweet, fruity substance that was an alarming shade of green. She was onto her second glass when a young man approached her table. He was clean-shaven, and more significantly, clean, though he was trying to make himself look less conspicuous by wearing shabby robes over his breeches.

She glanced down at his boots. Too expensive for any passing civilian. No matter what he put on top, there was no disguising the fact that he came from a wealthy family. 

"Are you..."

"If you're here, you know who I am," she said, motioning for him to sit down. He stared at her, as if he couldn't believe she was who she said she was. She tried to remember Skinner's calm when he spoke to people, the way he steered the conversation. "You have something you want found."

The man nodded earnestly. "I know my father had some involvement in getting her wiped from all records," he said. "I don't care if she doesn't want to come back. I just want to know that she's safe and she hasn't been harmed."

Ishbel drummed her fingers on the edge of her console, glancing down. A question flickered onto the screen. "Who was she to you? And who is your father?" she asked, looking up at him. "And believe me when I say honesty is key here."

The young man flushed. "She's everything." He shifted on his seat. "My father is George King. He's got power and contacts enough to make sure she vanished."

The name was well-known, even to Ishbel. He was one of the power-mongers high in the Alliance. 

Ishbel didn't have to look at the screen to guess the next question. "Your father disapproved?"

"He does that," King's son said, twisting his hands together. "The war is over, but he won't let it lie. It doesn't matter what she was involved in, then. She's not like that now."

Ishbel glanced down at the screen, nodded. "High up in the Brown coats?" she said, raising her eyes to King. "Or worse?"

The man shifted uncomfortably. "She was from Leopold."

Ishbel didn't understand the significance, but it seemed that Skinner did. She studied the screen, then looked up at the young man again. "How can I be sure you're not looking for her under your father's orders? After all, if she's been on the run this long, you must be desperate to come to me."

"I don't need to know where she is," King said tersely. "I don't want to know where she is. I just want to know that she's safe and she's well. As long as she's either of those things, I don't need to know more."

"And if she's not?" Ishbel said quietly.

"Then I go and find her, and get her somewhere that she can be."

Ishbel sat back in her seat, looking at him. "You love her."

He laughed self-consciously, and a smile softened his stern features. "You could say that."

The console was beeping, but Ishbel ignored it and Skinner. "How did you meet?" she asked. "If she's such a danger to your father, it doesn't sound like you went to the same parties."

King gave her a boyish grin. "She robbed my then-fiancée’s shuttle," he said. "I went after her, caught her on one of the moons of Triton and we barely got out alive from a firefight with the local militia." He gestured to a scar that bisected his chin. "She didn't like being caught, but when I was down, she watched my back."

Ishbel couldn't help smiling. "And now, you want her safe," she said. She glanced down at the screen reluctantly, wondering just how high a price a love story would cost. "It'll cost you. Finding someone who has evaded the Alliance for years will be tricky enough, but if they have her and are hiding her now..."

"They are," he said with certainty. "They must be."

Ishbel watched information skim over the screen. "Your father has access to the codes for the Orion project," she said, raising her eyes to his. "We need those codes."

King blanched. "My father would kill me."

"From the sounds of it," Ishbel said, without looking at the screen, "you wouldn't be the first." She switched off her console. "How much do you care about this woman? How much do you want to see her safe?"

He leaned forward, a militant gleam in his eye. "I would do anything."

She laid her hand over his, squeezed his hand. "The codes, then," she said. "I can give you twelve hours to work out if it can be done and make a decision."

"How do I know you can find her?"

Ishbel smiled quietly. "Don't you know the Skinner's reputation?" she said. "Give me her name and if you decide you want to deal, I'll tell you what I can do."

He looked at her, warily, then nodded. "Snow," he said. "Her name is Snow."


	7. Chapter 7

"He was a charming boy."

Ishbel shrugged, setting down the box she was carrying. "He was a nice guy," she said. "I think it's sweet that he's doing this for the woman he cares about."

"Hm."

She shot him a smile. "Oh, you know it's sweet."

Skinner hadn't spoken much from the moment when they left the bar. He agreed to let her supplement the ship's galley, and she had bought dishes and spices, enough to make any bland protein taste like something. She even persuaded him to allow her a kettle and teapot, which she considered a victory.

He put down the sack he was carrying over his shoulder. "I'm not a sentimental person, Miss French."

"Go se," Ishbel said with a snort. "What if I told you I was going to toss your chipped cup?"

Skinner looked at her with warning in his dark eyes. "I would say that would be a bad idea," he said.

She beamed at him and rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. "See?" she said. "Sentimental."

"That proves nothing," he said, turning away from her. She could tell he was trying to be dismissive, but she could see the tension in his face as he unpacked a box of dried fruit. He stacked the boxes into one of the previously unused cupboards. 

Rather than make him more uncomfortable, she set to work unpacking her utensils. "What's Leopold?" she asked.

"Hm?"

"The girl, this Snow. He said she was from Leopold. Like that was bad."

Skinner paused, looking at one of the cannisters in his hand. "It was something that the Alliance tried to keep quiet," he said. "Leopold was meant to be a neutral planet in the war. A lot of intelligence was gathered there. Information that wasn't meant to be known about the Alliance." He looked at her. "What might look like a beacon of light from a distance can become an inferno up close."

Ishbel set the kettle down on the stove. "The Alliance is no beacon," she said quietly, remembering her mother's hollow-eyed expression when she sat on the veranda and watched the sun sinking.

Moe French wasn't a bad father or a bad husband, but looking after his wife had worn him down. His temper frayed, and sometimes, Ishbel felt guilty at being relieved when her mother passed away. Livia never recovered from the war. She was a strong woman, and looked whole, but sometimes, she woke screaming in the night and didn't recognise them. 

The doctors all said it was in her head, that there was nothing that could be done, and more times than she could count, Ishbel had seen her papa wrenching a gun away from her mama's head. She wanted an end to it, broken as she was, and in the end, her body obliged. A winter fever took her, and papa's hair went white overnight. 

Skinner understood her expression. He tossed a box to her. "Tea," he said.

She nodded, filling the kettle with two cups of water. "So," she said, trying to force her voice to be steady, "the people of Leopold didn't keep the secret they found out?"

"They turned," Skinner said. "Not obviously. They were educated people, the elite. They would have been embraced by the Alliance and they took advantage of the fact. They gave the Browncoats intel that kept the war going."

Ishbel spooned tea into the teapot. "I'd never heard of it."

"No." Skinner sat on one of the metal store crates on the floor. "Not many have." He rubbed his right knee, massaging the joint. "Leopold was wiped clean at the height of the war. It was allegedly an accident, a virus which they had been studying in one of the laboratories. A biological weapon, it was said. One of the scientists supposedly got infected. There was no cure. There was only containment. No one could get off the planet, in case they were a carrier." He ran a hand over his face. "The Blue Star research facility recommended quarantine. No one in or out.

Ishbel stared at him. "They left them all to die?"

"It was one planet rather than risking ever planet in the verse," Skinner replied without meeting her eyes. "The price, some might say, was worth it."

Ishbel's mouth was dry. "Was it an accident?"

He raised his eyes to hers. "No one can be sure."

She picked at her nails. "Do you think it was?"

He shook his head. "That doesn't matter anymore." He rose from the box, fetching the teacups from the locked cabinet. "We heard it was an accident. We believed it was. No one survived as far as we knew. Not until four years later, after the watchships abandoned the planet. Of a population of some fifteen thousand, there were perhaps eight hundred left." 

"And they said it wasn't an accident," Ishbel guessed. 

Skinner inclined his head. "They claimed they never worked in bioartificing. There was no disease, they said. They believed the poison was introduced to the atmosphere by Blue Star itself. Trouble was that the Alliance was in control. You don't go shouting about that kind of thing on the central planets."

Ishbel felt sick. "How many are left now?" she asked quietly. 

"Free or living? Less than half," Skinner replied. "They went underground. Most don't mention their affiliation to Leopold. No one would believe them if they did. There was no proof on either side. All Leopold's records were marked as a dangerous contagion zone. As far as the wider world knew, no one survived."

She took a shaky breath. "If it was a sickness, wouldn't people off-planet have been ill?"

He looked at her. "You would have thought so, wouldn't you?"

"No wonder King didn't want his son seeing her."

"Indeed." The kettle was shrilling, so he lifted it and filled the pot. "I suspect the girl may be dead, but if there's a chance she lives, she would be worth the codes."

Ishbel rocked on the balls of her feet. "He could be in danger if he gets them."

Brown eyes met hers. "And we could be in danger if we go looking for things that the Alliance wants to keep buried," he said. 

"What's so important about those codes?" she asked. "Why do you need them?"

He didn't look away from her. "I need them to get to information I've been unable to reach," he said. "We're playing with dangerous people." He paused, looking down at the teacups on the edge of the stove, straightened them up. "You can walk away now, Ishbel. Your deal didn't mean you need to risk your life."

She stared at him. "You'd let me go?"

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "You provided me with more intel in one month than I could have collated in a year. I think you have more than earned the protection that you paid for." He looked at her. "I'm not in the business of getting people killed anymore, dong ma?" He waved vaguely towards the body of the shop and the main hatch. "We're on one of the central planets, dearie. You could find a ship heading back to the Frontlands."

Ishbel distracted herself by pouring the tea. Her hands shook a little. When he had told her there was a price, she assumed it was a lifetime of service. Not a trek as far as the central planets then freedom. She could go home, knowing what she knew now about the verse. Knowing that this lonely man was working towards a cause she couldn't imagine, against the Alliance that had done nothing but ruin her family. 

She added a lump of sweet grains to each cup, then turned to face him, looking up at him, knowing her choice. "I will go with you," she said, holding out her cup. "As long as you'll have me."

The relieved smile that crossed his face almost broke her heart. "Let's hope you don't live to regret that," he murmured, raising his cup in a toast.


	8. Chapter 8

A cloud of precipitation was moving across Persephone. 

For once, the usually busy docks weren't crowded, but the gantried alleyways and covered courtyards that led deeper into the settlement and trade areas were crammed to overflowing. Stalls that had no shelters had been abandoned, while others had temporary sheets of metal propped over them and their owners. It wasn't that the rain was especially heavy, but the chemicals absorbed from the atmosphere tended to dry out and blister the skin with prolonged exposure.

Ishbel's heavy boots splashed through the puddles as she skirted the edge of the buildings. The rain was pattering against the skin of the sturdy plastic umbrella she was carrying, and with most people huddling under shelters, she could wander at her own pace without fear of getting in the way. 

She was on her way to meet up with the young King again. They were meeting at the same place, but if he brought the right answer, the meeting wouldn't last there.

She eyed the crowd, looking for an opening.

It was the useful thing about being small, she thought as she folded the umbrella and squeezed in between two stalls, dodging the yelling owners. She could duck and weave and dodge like a child, where someone only inches taller than her would get caught out or tripped.

The tavern where they were to meet was as busy as the streets. Traders, it seemed, would waste their hard-earned credits at the first touch of rain, with nothing better to do with themselves. 

King was waiting for her in the same booth they had occupied only twelve hours earlier. He looked pale and drawn, but nodded in greeting. "You came."

"You thought I wouldn't?" Ishbel said, as she slid into the seat opposite him.

"No one else has been willing to help me," he replied with a candor that caught her by surprise. "The second I mention Leopold, they run." 

Given what she now knew about the notorious planet, Ishbel couldn't blame them. "If you can get the codes, we'll be able to come to an arrangement," she said, hoping that the Skinner was right, that they would be able to find the girl in question. It would be too cruel to get King's hopes up only to dash them.

His expression was grim, but he nodded. "It'll be possible," he said, "but I need some kind of proof that I'm not being played again. I've lost too much to take a chance this time."

Ishbel nodded. "He knows," she said. "He'll meet you."

King paled. "He's here?"

She rose from the table. "Follow me," she said, slipping her palm-console into her hand. The Skinner was elsewhere in the trading district. He told her he was likely to be followed, so better she come to him. The console would guide her with one beep for left and two for right. "Stay close."

He managed to keep up, staying less than two paces behind her, as they wove their way through the bustling trade district. With so many people, she was sure he would lose her, small as she was, but his height and breadth made it easier for him to push his way after her. The crowd closed up behind them, as they turned into one side-street then another, working deeper and through the maze of buildings, until they reached a doorway blocked only by a beaded curtain.

"Here," she said, drawing back the curtain.

King nodded, stepping through. She followed him into a room that was small, dark and grim. There was a single electric lamp buzzing and crackling on the steel plate walls. The Skinner was sitting on an upturned barrel, one leg extended out before him, his hand resting on his cane. He was wearing the same cleancut suit that he had worn the day he had come to the Frontlands, and for a moment, he was no longer the Skinner Ishbel knew, but something colder and much more forbidding.

"Skinner?" King stood in the middle of the room.

"Indeed, dearie." The Skinner rose, leaning casually on his cane. "So, you're the one my name isn't enough for."

Ishbel saw King's hands tighten into fists. "You're asking me to risk my life to get those codes."

"And you're asking me to poke through the Alliance's dirtiest secrets," Skinner said mildly. "You know how well they take that." He slipped his hand into his pocket then withdrew a data film, which he held out. "Is this what you're looking for?"

King snatched the film, barely as big as his palm. The image on it flickered and wavered, but Ishbel caught a glimpse of a woman, pale-faced and dark-haired. Her features were tense, and it looked like the shot of her had been caught on the run. "Where did you get this?" King demanded, his voice ragged.

"That would be telling," Skinner said, resting both his hands on top of his cane. "There are a few details about this young lady that you neglected to mention."

Ishbel stared at him, wondering where he'd had the time to do a search for the woman. She had retreated to sleep only eight hours earlier, and believed he did the same, but apparently not. When she rose, he was sitting in the cockpit with a steaming cup of tea. It seemed she was mistaken in her assumption that he was only just up. 

"I don't know..."

Skinner raised a hand, silencing him. "You didn't mention her background," he said. "And there's the matter of exactly what value she is to the Alliance."

"Why would she be of any value?" King demanded. "She's a survivor and a bandit, but that's nothing for them to harm her for."

Ishbel was watching the Skinner, watching his eyes. He was surprised, but he hid it well. "Oh, I see," he murmured. "You don't know just who stumbled into your arms, do you?" One side of his mouth turned up. "Didn't you wonder why the price was so high, boy?"

"I'd heard about your reputation," King replied stonily. "You're notorious for high prices."

"Not as high as that," Skinner said. "You know of Leopold. Do you know of the Seven?"

King nodded slowly. "They were meant to be the best spies and undercover operatives the Alliance ever had, before they turned. My father said they were hunted down."

"They were," Skinner said. "But they were informed and quick enough to go underground. All except one."

"If you tell me Snow was..."

The Skinner laughed quietly. "No, no, no," he said. "Your Snow wasn't one of the Seven. The last and I, we came to an... arrangement so he could disappear after his brethren. He gave me the name of their leader." He fell silent, smiling a strange, thin little smile, and Ishbel looked between him and King, who looked shell-shocked.

"She's not... she wouldn't be..."

The Skinner spread one hand and shrugged. "Believe what you will. She evaded the Alliance for years. Surely you don't think she's just a space-skimming bandit?"

King looked down at the wavering image in his hand, then closed his fingers gently around it. "That doesn't change anything," he said. "I still want to know she's safe."

The Skinner's lips twitched in a wry smile. "Brave boy," he said in the same tone as he might say 'stubborn fool'. "How long will it take you to get the codes?"

King shook his head. "It'll take time. At least a couple of months. I need to get past my father's security and that's no mean feat."

"Plenty of time, then," the Skinner said, nodding. "My companion will give you a coded line. Once you have succeeded, send the message she tells you on the line she gives you. We will contact you about a time and place to meet."

"And you'll bring news of her?"

"Alive or dead," the Skinner replied quietly, "you will know her fate."


	9. Chapter 9

The Skinner's ship had just broken atmo and was headed out into the verse. 

Ishbel carried two bowls of curried pork and rice up through the ship to the cockpit. The Skinner had left her to play with her new toys in the galley while he took them out of the world, and she had eagerly set to work with the mix of herbs, spices and the fresh meat that wouldn't last long. 

She skipped up the steps, carrying the bowls stacked on top of one another, and two cups of water flavoured with colourful fruit syrup.

"Hey," she said, as she hopped over the threshold. "You got a hand free for food?"

"Give me a moment and I'll have two," he replied, his eyes on the consoles, one hand on the steering block, the other darting around on the array of buttons and dials. Ishbel left him to it, sitting down cross-legged on the floor and setting the bowls and cups down.

He was as good as his word, and less than three minutes later, he spun his chair around. "What are we having?"

"Good stuff," Ishbel said around a mouthful, handing up his bowl to him, her other hand gripping her own bowl and chopsticks. "Hot."

He gave the bowl a cautious sniff, then scooped some up, trying a small bite at first. "Not bad."

She grinned at him. "Told you I was a good cook," she said, leaning back against the bulkhead.

He inclined his head. "I won't disagree," he said.

They ate in companionable silence broken only by the steady hum of the engine, and Ishbel sighed with satisfaction as she set her empty bowl down. She picked up her cup, inclining her head to look up at him. "So you going to tell me what that was all about that, back there?"

"Hmm?" He raised his eyebrows, his mouth full. 

"That whole 'is this who you're looking for' thing?" she said. "You didn't tell me you knew how to search like that. I couldn't find anything on that girl. You went deep to get that image of her."

He set aside his bowl. "That wasn't from the cortex," he said. "You know how to find information your way. I know how to find it mine."

"Go se," she said with a snort. "That was archive footage from security cameras."

For a moment, he was silent, steepling his fingers in front of him. "You have a quick eye," he said. "I didn't think you'd notice."

"I'm paid to watch for the details," she said. She unfolded her legs from under her and stretched them out. "If you didn't go deep to get those pictures, the only way I figure you could have got them was direct from the Alliance." She tilted her head. "Do you have eyes there?"

One side of his mouth curled up. "I have eyes everywhere, dearie," he said.

Ishbel wriggled her bare toes. "And if I ask how, you're not going to tell me, right?"

"There are some things its safer for you not to know," he said. "Let's just leave it at the fact I have sources, but unlike yours, mine are not wires and data." He leaned down to pick up his cup. "You have, I assume, heard of the Seven?"

Ishbel pressed her feet flat to the floor and looked down at her cup. "Kinda," she said sheepishly.

"Elaborate."

She peeped up at him. "You know who they were," she said.

"I do."

"They were the best at what they did. Got the information from places you can't even imagine. You caught the slowest of them," she said. "Code-name Sleepy, right?"

The Skinner frowned at her. "How did you...?" He paused, a slow smile curling his lips up. "Which one?"

She turned her cup in her hands. "The one who used to go by the Dreamer out on the cortex," she said. "We crossed wires a few times." She smiled tentatively. "The Dreamer introduced me to the Nova programme. It's what I use to go deep." She laughed quietly, shaking her head. "He used to call it his magic pixie dust. Said it could get him in anywhere."

The Skinner studied her, a speculative gleam in his eyes. "Do you still have contact with this Dreamer?"

She shook her head. "He went out of the world a year back," she said. "No one's seen him or heard from him in a hell of a long time. I figured he'd found some little moon to settle on, didn't need to be doing what he was doing anymore."

"Men like that don't just retire," the Skinner said. "Trust me on that." He drained his cup and set it down. "Put out a call for him. If he's half as loyal as the Sleepy one was, he'll want to help us on the hunt for this Snow. The Seven were her close circle. If any of them are still active, they're the best hope we have of finding her."

Ishbel gazed at him. "You really want those codes, don't you? What's so important about them?"

"You can't know that," he said.

"Hwun dan!" she said indignantly. "I'm here, aren't I? Don't you trust me?"

He held up his hand. "It isn't about you, Ishbel," he said. "No one can know about this. All it takes is the wrong word caught by the wrong person and it all goes to hell.”

She sat up a little straighter. “It’s that bad?”

The Skinner nodded. “I know that Snow is alive,” he said abruptly. “I don’t know where and I don’t know what shape she’ll be in, but if they have her - which I’m sure they do - there are a thousand and one reasons that you don’t need to know about what they need her for.”

“If she ran the Seven, I can take a guess,” Ishbel said, making a face.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You can,” he said, “and you know how wide the Alliance’s reach can be.” He met her eyes. “Remember what happened to your parents after the war.”

Ishbel stared at him. 

She was only a kid at the time, but they were dumped at the Frontlands without more than a basic toolkit, if her father’s stories were to be believed. Traders and sailors had dropped by and eventually, there was a town, but before that…

“How did you know about that?” she asked in a small voice.

He looked at her gravely. “I have my sources,” he said. “This is a dangerous deal we have made, but it’s necessary to find what I’m looking for. The less you know about the details, the safer you’ll be.”

Ishbel gathered up her dish and cup and rose. She wasn’t sure what to think, but with all the intel she had collected and everything she had seen, not knowing something felt wrong, like she had been left out of the loop.

“Give me your dish,” she said.

He handed it to her, then caught her wrist. “When this is done,” he said, “you’ll know.”

One side of her mouth turned up. “Yeah,” she said. “You’ll owe me a story.”

He nodded. “A deal,” he promised.


	10. Chapter 10

Ishbel's eyes were aching.

She was sitting cross-legged on the stool in front of the consoles. Three screens were lit up and searching through screeds of data, while another was a mess of code. Ishbel fiddled with the big toe of her right foot. She had a toering. Turning it round and round gave her a tangible link to consciousness, while her attention was fixed on the screen.

The best hackers communicated through the hidden layers of code under the base code of the cortex.

The Nova programme was the encryption programme that cut through the upper and obvious layers and went further than any other hacking programme, and now that she had to find the hacker known as the Dreamer, she was having to push her skills as far as she could.

The Skinner was sure she could make contact, even if she doubted it herself. 

She yawned expansively, rolling her shoulders. She knew she should take a break, but if she did, the code would change again. It was constantly shifting, like trying to spot a specific ripple on a specific wave, and if she missed the opening, she would have to start all over.

It was almost ten hours since she had booted up and logged on. She hadn't left the console once since. The Skinner had been helpful enough to bring her a bucket in place of needing to go off to the fresher in her bunk, and he had left her to it.

Like her, he knew when work needed focus and when it was a bad idea to distract her.

Her protein bar sat, half-eaten, on the edge of the console. She had managed two bites at intervals throughout the day, but when she got caught up as layers of code peeled back to let her deeper into the cortex, all thought of eating had been forgotten. 

Her chin was starting to droop when broad hands came to rest on her shoulders.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," he murmured.

"This is nothing," Ishbel said, shaking her head. She put her hands on the keyboard, typing a long run of letters and numbers interspersed with chinese text. "You don't find what you're looking for on the cortex unless you're ready to go deep. Can't find diamonds in the turf. You have to dig."

His thumbs rubbed in circles at the nape of her neck, driving away some of the stiffness. "If you find what you're looking for, you've earned a day off."

"Good for me," Ishbel said, trying to ignore the warmth of his palms through her t-shirt. It was making it difficult to focus on the work, but she wasn't to tell him to get his hands off. Not when he hardly ever touched her willingly as it was. "It's only a few more layers."

"Until?"

"Until I'm at the place where only the best can go," she replied. There was no point being modest about it. "If the Dreamer's still active on the cortex, that's the place to leave a message for him."

"How long do you think it could take to get there?"

Ishbel smiled. "I know this level," she said, pointing at the blur of coding screen. "It's the equivalent of breaking atmo. If you can get through here, it should only be a little longer. Maybe half an hour."

"I'll get you something better to eat," he said, squeezing her shoulders. "Then you're sleeping."

She snorted as he walked away from her. "If I get the message out, I'm holding you to that day off as well," she called after him. "Sleep doesn't count as a day off!"

If he replied, she didn't hear him, but as predicted, within half an hour the screen was showing a repeating pattern of code that told her she was in the right place. Ishbel blew out a noisy sigh of relief. She had a pre-prepared encrypted message that would only be understood by the person it was aimed at and she sent it, holding her breath until it was fully uploaded.

"Done," she breathed, sitting back from the screen and covering her face with both hands. It felt like she would never be able to open her eyes again, heavy as they were. It had been months since she'd had to work so intensively, and she didn't want to look at the clock to find out just how long it had been.

She heard the tap-step-step of the Skinner and his cane on the metal floor.

"Ishbel?"

She lowered her hands, and reluctantly opened her dry eyes. He was standing in the doorway that led to the engine room. "Message is sent," she said, unfolding one leg, then the other. She winced as the blood started flowing back to her stiff limbs. "All we can do now is wait."

The Skinner approached and looked at the screen. "It looks almost hypnotic," he observed, as symbols and letters cascaded down in patterns that were only distinguishable if you knew what you were looking for. "This is the deepest you can go?"

Ishbel nodded, wiggling her toes. "I don't know if it's possible to go deeper," she said. She started to rise, then yelped as her legs - tingling with pins and needles - gave way under her. The Skinner caught her around the waist, dropping his stick to bend and sweep her legs up from under her.

She clung onto him, very aware of how close his face was to hers, and how warm his breath was on her skin. "Thank you," she said, arms around his neck. "Saved my pigu from a bruising."

"We can't have that," he said, setting her back on her stool carefully. "Give yourself a moment. I don't want to have to carry you everywhere."

She drew her arms back, letting her hands rest on his shoulders for a moment. She watched his expression. "You'd enjoy it," she teased.

The Skinner slid his arm from beneath her legs, but his hand paused, lingering on her knee. "I wouldn't hate it," he said, his voice a little deeper than usual. His thumb moved in a circle, and her already tingling leg tingled for a whole other reason.

What teasing words she had dried up in her mouth and she stared at him. She liked him. She had for days. Weeks maybe. He was a grumpy old tsou duh liou mahng, but he poked fun at her and let her poke fun at him. She always figured it was one-sided.

He always seemed to like that she wasn't afraid of him.

Okay.

She could work with that.

She leaned closer and cautiously touched her lips to his. It was soft and careful and everything that neither of them was. He was the one to draw back with a small sigh, his hand slowly squeezing her knee.

Ishbel knew she was blushing. She could feel it from the roots of her hair right down to her bare feet. "Huh," she mumbled.

"Quite," the Skinner said, his voice equally low. There was colour in his cheeks and he pulled his hand back from her leg, clenching it into a fist by his side. He stepped back and Ishbel felt like she could breathe again. "I'll fetch your food, dearie. Can't have you swooning, can we?"

"Good," she agreed, lifting her hands to push her hair behind her ears. "That'd be good."

Only when he was back out of sight did she clap her hands over her mouth to stifle a giggle.


	11. Chapter 11

Ishbel was pretty sure that she had kissed the Skinner.

She was also pretty sure the Skinner had kissed her back.

Her imagination was active, but she was fairly sure that if she'd imagined the Skinner kissing her, it would have been up against the consoles with her legs around his waist and would have lasted a good while longer than it did when he actually kissed her.

And he had.

She just couldn't understand why he was acting as if it had never happened. 

After she'd uploaded the message and wolfed down a bowl of some kind of fried stuff - her eyes were so blurry she couldn't even tell by looking - the Skinner had sent her down to her bunk to sleep, and she'd done just that. For twelve hours straight, she had been snoring into her pillow.

When she dragged herself back up into the working world, hair twisted in a knot and pinned in place with sticks, camo replaced with a dress for a change, she wandered up to the cockpit and leaned over the back of the Skinner's chair to drop a sleepy kiss on top of his head.

He didn't even look up at her. "Slept well?" he asked. 

She propped her arms on the back of his chair. "Like the dead," she replied, yawning. "Do I have my day off today?"

"You have twenty-four hours to do as you will," he replied. He was watching the monitors and consoles, with a video feed showing data in glowing screeds.

"You going to join me for breakfast?" she asked, reaching down to flick at his hair.

He waved her hand away irritably. "I have work to be doing, Miss French," he said. "Run along and entertain yourself."

Ishbel frowned. "You sure you don't want to join me?" she said. "We could start where we left off last night."

For a split-second, so quick she almost missed it, she saw the way his shoulders tensed. He caught his breath, but then looked up at her with the calm, blank expression that he used when he was making deals. It had been a long while since he'd pointed that look her way.

It faltered for a moment at the sight of her dress and her bare legs, but he pulled it back on like a mask. 

"I understand that you are a young woman and you may occasionally have natural impulses, dearie," he said, "but you are my crew, and when I tell you to run along, you should run along." His lips were thinning to a terse line. "I have work to do."

Ishbel nodded, still frowning at him. "You know where to find me," she said. "It's not like I can go far."

He turned back to the consoles, his shoulders tensed beneath his shirt.

Ishbel knew she was smart when it came to technology, but that didn't help her when she was trying to work with emotion. She also knew she wasn't great with people, but she could tell enough from the way he had squeezed her knee and the way he had looked at her that he was definitely interested. 

Just when she thought she was going to have a good day with someone who wanted to spend time kissing her, he'd turned her down flat for work. She muttered profanities as she wandered back through the ship. They were quiet enough that she didn't sound like she was insulting him aloud, but loud enough that she knew he would hear every gorram word.

In the end, after she ate, she dragged up some pillows from her bunk up and made herself a fine little nest in the corner where the consoles heated up their casings. She propped her bare feet up against the warm metal, sprawled back with a pillow behind her head and a book in her hand. Skinner had a few and they weren't great, but she'd brought her favourites with her from home.

Her father always said she was a mixed-up little thing because she loved her books so much. No one who knew how to walk the verse as well as she did should get so lost in pieces of paper stuck together with imaginary worlds. She never had the heart to tell him it was because of where they were. Walking the verse was one thing, but sometimes, she needed something that was else: somewhere where happy endings could happen, and there was magic and hope and something better than living on the ass-end of the verse after a war gone badly. 

She chose to read her favourite all over again. She knew the story inside out and backwards: daring sword fights, magic spells, a Prince in disguise. The pages were dog-eared and the spine was so cracked that it was stuck together with sealant, but she'd had it since she was ten years old and she never grew tired of it, even if it was the story of a world long gone.

Ishbel didn't like to think she was a cynical person, but heroes didn't happen anymore. You lived, you did what you had to in order to survive, and in the end, you were just dust in the verse.

She didn't notice at first that she wasn't alone. She was so caught up in the book that she didn't hear the Skinner approaching from the cockpit. She was just finishing the final page when she heard a faint sound, like a breath being released, and lowered the book to peer over it.

The Skinner was standing in the doorway, his hand braced on the frame, at the top of the steps, and though he looked away, that didn't hide the fact that his features flushed and that he had been looking at her. Ishbel glanced at herself, at her feet still propped high up the side of the consoles, her skirts in a heap around her hips. Somehow, she had ended up almost flat on her back on the pillows, and he had taken the time to look.

Well now. How about that? He did have a pulse after all. 

She pushed herself up into a sitting position, arranging her skirt modestly. She looked up at him. "Hey."

He looked at her with such heat in his eyes that she felt herself blushing. "Good book?"

"My favourite," she replied, setting it down on the pillows and getting up. "I thought you had work."

"I do," he said, drumming his fingers on the handle of his cane. "I came to get a drink."

One side of her mouth turned up. "So you were just standing there? Drinking?"

He gave her a stern look. "I was briefly distracted."

"Briefly. Right." She beamed at him. "Come down and I'll get us both a drink."

She couldn't keep the grin from him face at the knowledge that she had managed to get his attention away from the cockpit and whatever he was working on. Given how hard he was working towards it, to break his concentration was a good sign.

He followed her into the galley, but he kept himself at arm's length, standing near the doorway, as if he could bolt at any moment, but he was watching her intently.

Ishbel slanted an impish look over her shoulder. "Soemthing on your mind?" she said, eyes dancing.

His eyes were heavily-lidded, and his voice was somehow deeper that before. "Oh, dearie, you have no idea."

Ishbel's knees felt weak, but she braced her hand against the edge of the stove. "Shame you have to work so much," she said as lightly as she could. "No chance of a break?"

"Not yet," he said, "but it is tempting."

She risked a glance over her shoulder. "Yeah?"

His eyes met hers and one side of his mouth turned up. "Like you wouldn't believe."

Ishbel beamed happily as she turned her attention back to the tea.


	12. Chapter 12

Ishbel wasn't expecting anything much.

Still, when the Skinner told her to check for responses, she did. It didn't hurt to take a skim over the base of the cortex and see what news was flying about in hacker circles. Three days after she put the message up, though, a code panel flashed up.

"Skinner!"

He came through from the cockpit. "Problem, dearie?"

She turned on the stool to look at him. "Dreamer says he can get us the intel we need. He says he doesn't know where Snow is right now, but he has information that could point the way and he'll trade it on the promise of her safety."

The Skinner stared at her, as if he couldn't believe he was right. "He will?"

Ishbel nodded. "It has to be a physical handover," she said. "He won't put the data on the cortex where it could be intercepted." She glanced back at the screen. "He says King wasn't the only one after her."

"No, I didn't think he would be," Skinner murmured. "Where and when?"

The meet was set up for a week and a half later, on Reunification Day, a time when off-world visitors didn't draw much attention. No one wanted to be out in the black when Reunification Day came around. It didn't look good, unless you wanted people to think you weren't a stalwart and loyal supporter of the Alliance.

It was a hell of an awkward ten days.

Ishbel thought being closed up in a ship, waiting, was frustrating, but that had nothing on sitting next to the guy she had a crush on, closed up in a ship and waiting. He hadn't kissed her since that first night, but sometimes, when she was skimming the verse, he would stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders, and slowly massage the tension from her nape and back.

Her papa always told her a lady didn't jump any man's bones without permission, but the gorram man was making it so gorram difficult. Hell, she never wanted to be a lady anyway. 

Skinner was too caught up in his work. At least, he acted like he was. Sometimes, she caught him looking at her like he wanted to take her up against the nearest wall, but they had a job to do, and she had a feeling that if they started something, they wouldn't stop.

When they landed on Calliope Four, even the humid, hot air was a welcome relief. Anything that meant they weren't closed up within the same four walls, within touching distance, but not touching. Ishbel turned her face to the breeze, and drew a breath, but regretted it right away. 

Calliope Four stank.

All the settlements were built up around the ore mines, and the excess gas that was burnt off left a stinking smog hanging over the buildings. It was harmless, but knowing that didn't make it smell any better. Ishbel made a face, earning a snicker from the Skinner, and she socked him on the arm.

He was in another outfit that had earned a stare from her when he showed up. He looked like he'd been crawling around in engines for years, a toolbelt slung around his waist, his jumpsuit grimy with oil. Even his nails were stained and cracked. His hair was tied up under a knotted headscarf, and he hadn't shaved in days.

Ishbel wasn't about to tell him how much she liked him scruffed up. 

She hadn't gone with any disguise. It wasn't necessary, because no one gave a pale, sleepy-eyed girl with a ponytail and a patchworked jumpsuit a second look. Not unless they were looking for something in particular. The patches on her jumpsuit might look random, but hackers left markers, and she knew that even if she couldn't recognise the Dreamer, he would recognise her. 

They were meant to make the trade-off in one of the many taverns in town.

She told Skinner she could go it alone, but he didn't trust any of the Seven as far as he could throw them.

The bar they were aiming for was called The Mine. Not exactly an original name in a planet that pretty much was a mine all by itself. It was packed with miners who had been allowed to surface from the pits and the drills. It was an equal opportunity position, women and men both bickering over drinks. 

"You can tell the diggers," the Skinner murmured, his hand lightly at her elbow. "Look at their eyes. Bloodshot. Oredust and darkness."

Ishbel glanced around. It looked like pretty much every man and his dog in the bar was a digger if that was the rule.

They headed towards the counter, veering around swaying drunks yelling about Reunification day. Ishbel ended up hauled into at least three toasts and raised a non-existant glass to the Alliance before finally reaching the bar, the Skinner at her side.

"Good place for a meet," he muttered to her. "They're not going to notice anyone."

Ishbel nudged him. "You gonna get me a drink?"

"I'll get you a drink, sister."

Ishbel turned with amusement to the drunk next to her, who was doing a good job of propping the bar up. He was dressed like every other miner in the place, crusted with dust. His beard must have been black once, but now, it was speckles with a dozen colours. "You would?"

He lifted bleary eyes to her and leaned closer. "You bet," he said. "Reunificaration day. Time to celebrate." He lifted a hand, holding a bottle above his head. "Reunificaration!" he yelled, and a dozen voices yelled back. He grabbed Ishbel around the middle and spun her around. "I'll dance too."

"I bet you will," Ishbel said, grinning, swaying with him. She could see the Skinner was reaching for the wrench at his belt. "How about we reschedule? I'm busy tonight."

"Too bad, sister," he said, wobbling in a way that any drunk would consider impressive. "I'm one hell of a dancer."

"I can tell," she said, socking him on the shoulder playfully. "Tell you what? How about we take a raincheck? You, me and the light fantastic?"

He leaned closer, his eyes clear and knowing. "You got yourself a date," he said, and winked, before staggering off, beer in hand. 

Ishbel returned to Skinner at the bar. "You don't need to beat up a drunk," she said, nodding at the wrench in his hand. "I've handled worse."

"These people aren't known for their manners," the Skinner said, scowling after the man. "Sometimes, a knock on the head is the only way to get anything through their heads." He raised a hand, catching the bartender's eye. "What do you want to drink?"

"You treating me like a lady?"

He looked at her. "You are a lady," he said.

Ishbel beamed at him. "Something fancy," she said.

Whatever it was, it was definitely big and fancy. It was bright blue, sweet, and exactly the kind of fake-fruit drink that she loved with a kick of alcohol under it all. 

"You should try some," she informed him, sipping it. "What do they call it?"

"Gas flare," he replied, turning to lean back against the bar, his eyes scanning the room. "Do you have any idea when this friend of yours is going to show up?"

Ishbel widened her eyes innocently. "You mean it isn't just us on a date?" she said, draining the remainder of the glass. It made her tingle right down to her toes

"Ishbel..." he warned.

She rolled her eyes. "My friend's been and gone," she said. She patted the front pocket of her overalls. The data chip was snugly tucked in there, deposited by the deft hand of the man known as the Dreamer. She looked up at Skinner in amusement. "You didn't think that I'd let just any drunk try and make me dance, did you?"

The Skinner's mouth opened and shut several times. "That was..."

"Now you see why you couldn't keep up with them?" she said, grinning. She rose on her toes and kissed him, leaving his lips stained blue. "See? Pretty good, huh?"

The Skinner shook his head, looking down at her. "Very."


	13. Chapter 13

Ishbel let out the breath she was holding.

"That's it," the Skinner said. He sounded as stunned as she did. "He got what we needed."

They had headed back to the ship and took themselves out of the world before connecting the data chip to the consoles and going through the intel provided by the Dreamer.

There had been a brief message from the Dreamer, then files and folders and information had opened up like a flower, layer upon layer of it built up on code and hidden messages. Ishbel's hands flew across the consoles, sifting through it, but there were plans and data so in-depth that even when she cracked through the codes and locks on it, she didn't understand half of it.

The Skinner was standing behind her, watching her work. He had barely said a word as they headed back from the tavern, and she knew he was still trying to process the fact that two hackers - generally a type who didn't do well with people or normal human interaction - managed to pull the wool over his eyes with booze and a dance. 

"Do you know what it means?" Ishbel asked, looking up at him.

The Skinner's eyes were skimming over the screens, drinking in the coordinates, system maps, and data. "There has to be a catch," he said. "A price." He looked down at her. "What does he get out of this? How can we be sure that this isn't some kind of trap."

"Why would it be a trap?" she asked.

He looked back up at the screen. "Everyone is being hunted by someone."

Ishbel twisted on the seat. "Someone's after you?"

His lips twisted wryly. "You aren't in my line of work without making a few enemies," he said. 

She drummed her fingers on the console. "Well, at least you know he won't be working with the Alliance, so that might take some people off your list." She looked back up at the screens. "The Seven wouldn't do anything to benefit the Alliance. They're all about the underdog."

He was silent for a moment. "What makes you think I have enemies within the Alliance?" he asked finally. 

"You disguise yourself and your ship," she replied. "Sometimes, you go out in your suits and leave your ship in old, but every other time, you switch on the chameleon mode and dress yourself up as someone else, and it's always when we were on the Alliance-loyal planets."

His hand came to rest on her shoulder, and he squeezed firmly, almost to the point of pain. "Remind me not to underestimate you," he said.

She looked up at him with a crooked smile. "It's taken you this long to figure that out?" she said. "Just because I my world is walking the cortex doesn't mean I'm some kind of buhn dahn."

"Of that, I was well-aware," the Skinner said, his thumb brushing along the edge of her collar, the callused flesh of his thumb coarse against her throat. She shivered, her eyes falling closed. "Tell me, dearie," he murmured, and she felt his fingers curl around her throat, "how can I be sure you're not one of those enemies?"

Her eyes opened a sliver. "You asked for me. I couldn't know you'd do that."

"And yet, you code walk and trek the cortex and suddenly, I'm getting information that should have been near impossible to get." The pressure against her throat was light, but there was enough of a threat there that it could tighten at any moment. "I have no idea just who you might be talking to."

Ishbel didn't take well to being threatened, even silently, even by men she might kind of like. 

She reached out blindly, her hands darting across the console panels, and there was a buzz, then sudden silence as every console in front of them powered down for the first time since she's boarded the Skinner's ship. The only sound was the steady hum of the engines.

Skinner's hand dropped away. "What the hell was that for?"

She spun in her stool to face him, her eyes blazing. "If you suspect me so much, I won't walk the cortex for you anymore," she said. She pushed herself off the stool onto her feet, squaring up to him, her hands on her hips, her face so close to his that they were practically nose-to-nose. "You want to play the can-I-trust-you game, well, two of us can play at that, you qing wa cao de liu mang!”

The Skinner stared back at her, and Ishbel couldn't help notice he was breathing as heavily as she was. "You doubt my motives?"

She jabbed him in the middle of the chest. "I doubt your gorram brain," she said. "You think I'm out to get you? Fine!" She stalked around him. "You can left me off this ruttin' ship next planet we reach and you won't have to worry about it anymore!"

He whirled around, catching up with her by the door and grabbing her arm. "Oh, I don't think so, dearie. We made a deal."

"Chiu se! I don’t give a monkey’s ass about the deal!" She bared her teeth at him. "If that's all you care about, you're welcome to it!" She jerked her arm free of his hand. "You asked me to be here. You asked me to find your gorram intel, and I did it! If you want me gone..."

He drove her back a step, pinning her do the wall, his hands on either side of her head, his body close to hers. "You're not going anywhere."

"And you're gonna stop me?" she snarled, nose-to-nose with him. His breath was hot on her face, and she could see the blue stain she'd left on his lips only hours before. Her eyes flicked from his lips back to his eyes, and if anyone asked her later, she couldn't have said which of them lunged first.

Where the first kiss had been gentle, this one was anything but.

The Skinner pushed her up against the wall, and she sank her fingers into his hair, her other arm around his back, as she pulled him closer. He hadn't changed out of his latest disguise, and she could smell the engine oil and dirt. She could taste alcohol, and hissed as he nipped at her lower lip, demanding entry. Ishbel wasn't one to do as she was told. She pulled him closer and kissed him hard, her mouth ravishing his, until she could feel his chest heaving against hers. 

His stubble rasped against her chin as his mouth tore from hers and travelled down across her jaw, biting, licking, nibbling, earning approving little groans from her as her hand fisted in his hair. His hands moved down her sides, and he hitched her up against the wall, hands beneath her backside.

Ishbel arched her back with a hiss as his mouth left a stinging lovebite on her throat, her legs wrapping around him as tightly as her arms. 

If she had ever any doubts about whether he wanted her, when he pressed up against her, they were put right out of her mind. 

He wrenched his lips from her throat, looking at her, his hair mussed around his face. "You're playing with fire, dearie," he rasped out, his hands squeezing her backside through her jumpsuit.

She curled her fingers, dragging her nails across the nape of his neck and earning a shiver from him. "Could say the same," she said, startled at how rough and sultry her voice sounded in her own ears. 

His tongue darted along his lower lip. "Should stop before we do something we regret."

She squeezed her legs that little bit tighter. "Don't you dare," she breathed.

He didn't.


	14. Chapter 14

"It's the last place she was seen?"

"Mm." Ishbel propped her palm console on his chest. "She hasn't gone off-planet since," she said. "No ships have left since she arrived, so the best guess is that's where she's hiding out."

The Skinner gazed up at the ceiling, his hand pillowing his head. "Interesting choice," he said pensively. His other hand was tangled up in Ishbel's hair, coiling strands around his fingers.

Ishbel glanced at him. For going on a week and a half now, they had barely been out of contact. That wasn't to say she wasn't working her fingers to the bone. Dreamer's intel had been good, but it still meant work to track the illusive Snow down. If the Seven couldn't find her, then she had to have gone into deep cover, and even now, she and the Skinner weren't even one hundred percent sure if they were right. 

It was the best lead they had, though, and from all accounts, there was nowhere else she could be.

Ishbel shifted her leg over Skinner's. They were tangled together in his bunk, which was just as small as hers, but they weren't exactly a big pair, so it made it cosy rather than cramped. "Why interesting?" she asked, nudging his ribs with her knuckle.

Skinner's lips twitched. "Where is the last place you'd look for one of the Alliance's most wanted?"

Ishbel stared at him. "It's an Alliance planet? That heap of rock?"

"You have to admit it's a bold move," he said. "We only found her there because we knew to look. Djinn is one of the planets where you can guarantee you'll be beaten senseless if you wear even a little brown on your coat." There was admiration in his tone. "She's good if she's bold enough to hide there."

They knew how she got to the planet, but they had no idea how she kept herself hidden. Djinn was known for strict security checks, and high-tech facial recognition software. If she had just walked off a ship and through the landing bays, she would have been hauled up in moments.

Nothing had been flagged anywhere on the cortex that suggested Snow had been caught, not even in the Alliance feeds the Skinner had hacked, so it was the best bet they had. 

Ishbel poked him again. "And what about the person who found her?" she said. "Where's the credit?"

His lips twitched. "Fishing for compliments, dearie?"

She pushed herself up on her elbow, looking down at him. "Maybe?"

He chuckled, his chest rumbling against hers. "Well," he said dryly. "I'm not in bed with Snow, am I?"

"Good answer," she said, knocking the console down the side of the bed and leaning over him to kiss him. It wasn't until a good while later, when they were tangled and sated under the blankets, that she remembered to ask, "Are we going to pick her up?"

The Skinner's fingers wandered in circles on her back. "I don't think that would be wise," he said. 

"Mm." She rested her head on his chest. "She might be good at hiding, but I don't think you're good enough to avoid notice somewhere like that."

"Your confidence overwhelms me," he said dryly. 

She grinned. "And you're talking go se," she said, prodding him again. "Now shut your hole. I'm tired out."

She could hear the smirk in his voice when he murmured, "Can't imagine why."

Ishbel snorted, snuggling against him.

The tension that had been hanging over the ship for days, no, weeks, was gone now. It was amazing how a good screw could make things better. She yawned and smiled as he tangled his fingers back into her hair. Maybe he didn't trust her all the way yet, but he liked her well enough and that was good enough for now. 

Word was sent on to the young King to let him know his lady had been found the next day.

"You really think he'll be able to get your codes for you?" Ishbel asked sleepily. She was sitting at the consoles, wrapped in nothing more than a blanket, her hands wandering over the keypads.

"We've held up our end of the bargain," Skinner said, approaching her with a cup of sweetened tea. "Now, it's up to him just how much he wants the information about her location."

She nodded, taking the cup from his hand. "And he's Alliance born and raised. He'll be able to walk in there without raising any eyebrows." She smiled drowsily, as he put his arm around her, slipping it between the folds of the blanket. "Hey now! I'm working here."

"Call it a tea break," he murmured against her hair. 

She snickered, pulling a face. "Sorry," she said, swatting his hand away. "My boss is a a grumpy hwun dahn."

"So I've heard," he said with a chuckle. "And likely to get grumpier if he doesn't get his way."

She sipped her tea. "Then he can get grumpier," she said, tapping at the keys.

"Is there anything that could persuade you?" he teased, his hand wandering.

Ishbel's lips twitched. "How persuasive can you be?" she asked, shifting her hips.

"I could go and work in the cockpit and not touch you until we're done with business," he murmured. "How's that for persuasive?"

She tilted her head to look at him. "Your loss," she said, eyes dancing. "How about a deal: I get my work done, you get yours done, we hear back from King's son, and then I'm in your hands."

"Dealing with a dealer, are we?" He looked at her with amusement.

She shrugged with a grin. "If it means I can get on with my work, then yeah."

"And if King replies, you'll do anything I please?"

Her eyes danced. "Well, within reason. I'm not exactly bendy enough for some of the more adventurous things."

He looked over her head at the screen, then back at her. "Deal."

She eyed him suspiciously. "There's a message from him behind me, isn't there?" His hand ventured further under her blanket. "How did you know...?"

"He's a young man in love," the Skinner murmured, his lips hot against her throat. "He would be waiting with bated breath for any news."

Ishbel closed her eyes as the blanket was tugged downwards. "Never deal against a dealer," she murmured, leaning back into him.

"Not if you have what he wants," Skinner agreed, drawing her around to face him, and claiming her lips.


	15. Chapter 15

The meet was arranged for Persephone.

Young King had the means to get the codes, but not the access, and wanted a meet with the Skinner to discuss terms. He couldn't get exactly what Skinner wanted, but he could provide access, which was what the Skinner needed. 

Ishbel was still none the wiser about what the codes were, but from the way the Skinner was behaving, they were more important than anything else she had looked out for him. It was even more important than the data he had managed to dig out of the tracking beacon.

Ishbel stood behind the Skinner's pilot seat as he brought the ship into land. "Same as usual?" she asked.

"You are the point of contact," he agreed, "bring him to me."

"You're kinda paranoid, y'know," she said, folding her arms on the back of the chair. 

"Cautious," he corrected. "We can't risk him being followed."

Ishbel propped her chin on her crossed arms, watching as his hands darted over the controls. The final descent was always done in silence. Not that he needed it, but she loved watching him at work. He was as smooth on the controls as she was on the consoles, and she always had admired skilful hands. 

"You think I should go undercover?" Ishbel inquired, once they had touched down.

The Skinner powered down the engines. "Undercover?"

She grinned. "I could dress up in something pretty," she said. "No one would suspect someone dressed all in frills of being a secret agent for the Skinner."

He looked her up and down. "It can't hurt," he said. "Always look a little different, wherever you go. It means people don't remember the face, just the decorations." He rose from the chair. "Run down and put on something pretty and paint your face up if you want."

Ishbel leaned closer to kiss him on the cheek. "Give me half an hour."

When she eventually clambered up from her bunk, he was sitting at the consoles, studying the latest news from Persephone. He turned the stool and his mouth opened, and that told her she'd done a good job. Ishbel twirled with a smile, her dress billowing around her knees. It was a floaty little blue piece of froth, pretty and delicate and nothing like anything she normally wore.

"How do I look?"

"Every inch the lady," he said, rising. "It's a shame you have to go out."

She snorted in amusement, socking him on the arm. "We'll be done soon enough," she said. She reached around him for her palm console. "Same as usual?"

"I've synced the codes between my console and yours," he said. "I'll wait here for your signal, then head to the meet spot. When I'm there, I'll guide you."

"How much are you going to tell him?" Ishbel inquired, tucking the console into a pouch at her belt.

"That's for me to know," he said. He trailed his hand down her back. "Be careful, sweetheart."

She rose on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "I always am." She stepped back. "I'll ping you when the package is in hand."

He winced. "Don't try and use codewords, dearie," he said. "It doesn't suit you."

She stuck out her tongue and ran towards to door, boots clattering on the gridded floor. "See you on the flipside," she called over her shoulder, before bounding out into the day. 

Unlike their last visit, the sun was shining and the streets were packed with traders. Ishbel ducked and wove between them, heading in the direction of the bar where she had first met King. Hagglers and pedlars called out to her as she passed, but she kept going. After all, if she got what Skinner wanted, that would put him in a good mood, and when he was in a good mood...

She hid a grin, pushing through the doors into the bar.

As soon as she was across the threshold, she stopped short. 

Something was wrong.

She couldn't put her finger on what it was, but there was something about the place, a tension, a nervous quiet that made her reach for her console. King was sitting at one of the tables, and he seemed oblivious to anything being wrong, rising as she approached.

Ishbel looked around. 

They were being watched.

She went to the bar, making a show of ordering a drink, and while the bartender filled a glass for her, she pulled out the console and manage to send out a code. Somewhere not half a kilometre away, the ship was locking itself down. The Skinner would kill her, she knew, but he would be safe from running into a trap. 

The console was snatched from her hand, and she was pulled around, a gun to her belly.

"None of that!"

She stared up at the man holding onto her. He might have been handsome once, but his features were grim and his eyes dark, and the mark of a red heart emblazoned on his lapel. Alliance. Foot soldier. Lackey. She burst into tears, the best trick she knew for putting a man off his guard, and for a split-second, it worked. The gun was lowered enough and she rammed her knee up as hard as she could between his legs, snatching the console and darting around him.

King was rising, rushing towards her, and she knew it was too late to get out.

"Trap!" she yelled, tearing the back off the console, ripping out the innards and hurling them into some drunk's glass where they crackled, sparked and died. King pulled out his own firearm, but men rose from booths all along the walls, shedding disguises, and she was grabbed and saw him go down under half a dozen uniformed men.

She swore, kicked, screamed, spat, and cursed them all. 

One of the men struck hard enough to make her see stars, leaving her sprawled against the bottom of the bar.

"That wasn't necessary." It was the first man, the one who had taken her at gunpoint.

Another man chuckled. "So you say. I'd rather she was down than take a chance that she'd encore the performance she gave you."

Ishbel pressed back against the bar, staring up at them. The second man was smirking. Dark-haired, cold-eyed, also marked with the red heart. "Wh-what do you want with me?" she whispered. She could taste blood in her mouth. 

"Isn't that sweet?" The second man rolled his eyes. "She's spent this long with the Skinner and she still tries to play the innocent."

The first man crouched down beside her, sealing heavy-duty cuffs on her wrists. "You have information we need," he said. "Our... employer wants to speak to you."

"You might as well shoot me now," Ishbel said quietly. "I don't know anything."

"Ha! Feisty little thing, isn't she?"

"Quiet, Hook," the man in front of her snapped.

The other man - Hook - snorted, folding his arms. "No need to play nice with her, Hunter. The lady isn't going to."

Ishbel slanted a look at the man called Hunter, who grimaced, but rose, dragging her to her feet.

"Console's ruined." Another of the black-clad men had fished the ruined object out of the drink. "No way that can be saved."

"She knew that," Hunter said. He glanced across the room. Ishbel followed his gaze. King was pinioned by four men, and looked furious. Bloodied, bruised, and furious. He was still struggling. "Once we're gone, you can let him go. We've got what we came for."

"You're after the Skinner, aren't you?" King snarled, jerking his arms against the grip of the men around him.

Hook clapped his hands, laughing. "Oh, such a clever boy," he said. "Not just him, friend. Your little doxy too."

Ishbel felt drained in Hunter's grip. Snow. Snow and the Skinner. Both enemies of the Alliance. Both valuable. They knew Ishbel was his intel sweeper. They knew he had intel on Snow's presence. They knew she would know some part of it. They might even use her as a bargaining chip to try and lure Skinner into a trap or even just to get the information out of him.

King was swearing and struggling as Hunter squeezed her shoulder, forcing her to move.

"King!" She jerked free of the Hunter's grip for a moment. "Tell him to look for the light fantastic!"

Hook struck her again. "Shut up, girl."

Hunter caught Hook's wrist. "Do that again, and I'll put you low," he snarled. "We need her intact and conscious."

Hook snorted, but drew away, and Ishbel was led out into the world.


	16. Chapter 16

Ishbel was closed up in a cell for hours on end.

She guessed that people from the central planets didn't do well, closed up, not when they lived in bright, colourful worlds full of people. Didn't make no nevermind to her. She was from the rim. She had spent months on a ship with the Skinner, closed up with nowhere to go, in a bunk a quarter of the size of the cell. Only difference between the ship and the cell was that the cell wasn't moving. 

The Skinner, she tried not to think about. 

If her security codes had locked down right, then he would have been sealed in the ship long enough not to come after her in a roaring temper. He didn't like it when people touched what was his, and she was pretty sure she counted as his now. She was bait for him and she wasn't about to let him fall for it.

She walked the walls once, twice. They were metal, smooth and flat and made to keep even the toughest space hopper in.

Ishbel retreated to the bunk against the wall and sprawled on her back. 

She was in a world of trouble, she knew, but there was no point in getting herself wound up until she knew just how bad it was. The lights above her were neon-bright, so she put her arm over her face, closed her eyes, and made herself breathe in and out, slow and deep.

Turned out being arrested and abducted all in one go wore her out because she was definitely asleep when the door opened. First she knew of it was when she was shaken awake by the man called Hunter. His expression was grim and he jerked his head towards the door. 

"You have to come with me," he said. He took a pair of electro-cuffs from his belt. 

"Are you serious?" she said, leaning back from him at the sight of the cuffs. They were only known for use on dangerous prisoners, or if someone wanted to make sure to keep a prisoner's full attention. There was a reason they were nicknamed torture bracelets. 

A muscle in his cheek twitched. "Unfortunately," he said. "If you answer her questions and do what she says, you'll be fine."

Ishbel pulled her arms tight against her chest. "And if I don't?"

He met her eyes. "I wouldn't recommend that."

"You think I'm going to let you just just cuff me up to be tortured? No gorram way!"

Hunter breathed out slowly. "This isn't a choice, French," he said in a low voice. "If you don't put them on willingly, Hook is waiting outside, and he's more than happy to hurt you."

Ishbel felt sick, but nodded, putting out her hands.

The shackles didn't look like much, covered in layers of dura-plastic that made them look harmless. The insides of the cuffs, though, were cold and the metal was tight against her wrists, contracting as Hunter clicked the seal in place.

She looked up at him. "Will this boss of yours use them?" she asked, her voice shaking more than she liked. 

He hesitated just long enough for her heart to sink. "Tell her what you can," he said. "She won't hurt you unless she thinks you're lying."

Ishbel trembled, as he put his hand on her shoulder and led her out of the cell. They had taken her boots from her before they put her in the cell and the floor was cold beneath her stockinged feet. She tried to straighten her back when she saw Hook lounging against the wall. 

Looking brave and being brave were two different things. She couldn't be brave, but she could at least pretend.

Ishbel raised her chin and didn't look at Hook as Hunter led her by. The corridors were sterile, gleaming white, and it felt hostile and cold. All part of the game, she knew: make people feel isolated, small, in a world too big for them.

Worst part of it all was that it was working and she could feel the ache in her throat that came before crying herself sick.

A door hissed open and Hunter guided her inside. 

It wasn't what she expected from an interrogation room. There was a wide window overlooking the city, and a woman was standing there, her back to them. Her hands were folded behind her back, and she was wearing a fitted dark jumpsuit of the kind often used by deep-space travellers. Her hair was jet black, twisted up in an elegant knot.

"Sit down, Miss French," she said, without turning.

Ishbel approached the table in the centre of the room. The chair was made of polished metal. It would be some kind of conductive material, she just knew it. The cuffs were bad enough, but the chair was just a cruel addition. Hunter squeezed her shoulder and stepped back once she was sitting.

She laid her hands on the edge of the table. It was cool beneath her fingertips.

The woman at the window turned around. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, but her features were painted as elegantly as any lady at one of the society gatherings. Red lips curled in a smile and the woman walked over, sitting down in the seat on the opposite side of the table. 

"You know why you're here," she said.

"The hell I do," Ishbel said, scowling. "I was dragged in off the streets by this feifei de piyan in uniform. I don't even know who you are."

Gloved hands were folded together on the table. They were black, gleaming and so neatly fitted that Ishbel could see the woman's nails and the creases of her knuckles. "No," she said, smiling. "I don't imagine you do." The tips of her thumbs tapped together. "Tell me, dear, have you heard of Operatives?"

Ishbel paled. The edge had Reavers. The core had Operatives. Alliance agents, nameless and faceless, who did all the things that you wanted to believe a Government would never do. They had no restrictions placed on them, and their actions were not accountable to anyone, as long as they got the job done.

Her hands tightened on the edge of the table and she took a trembling breath. "Yes," she said quietly.

The woman leaned back, smiling that dark smile. "Good," she said. "So you know exactly who you're dealing with."

Ishbel nodded, her mouth too dry to speak.

Dark eyes studied her and the silence deepened around them. Ishbel's palms felt damp and cold and she knew she was shaking, but no matter what the Operative asked, Ishbel was a woman of the Frontlands and no woman of the Frontlands would ever give the Alliance anything they wanted.

"Tell me about the Skinner," the Operative said. "Where is he?"

Ishbel felt like the hammer blow had been struck. She was bait, but she wasn't a traitor. "Don't know."

The Operative tapped one forefinger against the other. "I find that hard to believe," she said. "He makes his deals in person. You were there to take the King boy to him. That means he was on-planet. If he was on-planet, he wouldn't like to know that his little pet had been taken, would he?"

Ishbel met her eyes. "I'm just collect intel for him," she said. "There are hundreds like me out there. Why should he give a good gorram?"

The Operative watched her again for a moment, then tapped a panel on the table. A data projection lit up between them, Ishbel's face looking back at her. It was an old picture, when the Alliance did one of their census checks. They happened every five years. The information beside it, though, was much more recent: details of the date she was picked up from the Frontlands, of some of the places where he had let her out for air, and more worryingly, intel about her father and mother.

Her heart was thumping hard in her chest.

"Your mother was a Browncoat," the Operative said mildly. "Didn't survive long after the war, I believe."

"No." Ishbel gripped the edge of the table tightly. 

The screens shifted about. "Your father is doing well, I see."

Ishbel could feel her nails cracking. "So?"

The Operative's eyes flicked from the projection to Ishbel. It was a strange image, because she was looking right through Ishbel's eyes in the projection. "Observation, my dear, nothing more." She folded her hands again. "I wonder where he laid his hands on a chameleon device of that quality."

Ishbel's voice was flat. "You already know that."

The Operative's lips twitched. "I suspected," she said. "You have just confirmed it." With a tap to the desk, the projection vanished. "So that was the price? You sold your skills to keep the monsters from your door, hmm?" She put her head to one side. "A valuable trade indeed, which means you're not something he will let go of willingly." She shook her head thoughtfully. "No, he wanted you for a reason, and that makes you useful."

Ishbel leaned back in her seat. "I don't know what you expect me to tell you."

The red lips smiled. "Why, you're going to tell me everything, dear," she said. She glanced up at Hunter, standing just behind Ishbel's chair. "You can leave us now, Hunter."

The hiss of the door as it closed behind him was one of the most terrifying sounds Ishbel had ever heard.

The Operative stood up, smoothing her gloves over the back of each hand. "Now, dear," she said. "We're going to have a little talk." She walked around the table towards Ishbel, smiling all the while. "Woman to woman."

Do the brave thing, Ishbel thought, shaking to her toes, and bravery will follow.

"I won't tell you anything," she whispered.

The Operative laughed. "Not yet," she agreed, tracing the back of one finger against Ishbel's cheek. "But soon, you won't be able to stop."


	17. Chapter 17

Ishbel hurt all over.

She hurt in places she didn’t know it was possible to hurt.

The Operative had done what she promised, and Ishbel had broken the promise she made to herself. Hunter and Hook were told to take her back to her cell. Hunter pushed Hook aside, lifting her up in his arms like a child. He looked furious.

He’d carried her back to the cell, laid her down and sat beside her, cleaning the blood from her skin and holding her hand until the shaking stopped. The tears didn’t, even though she wanted them to. She felt too weak to even lift a hand to brush them away, or to turn onto her side, away from him.

“You should have spoken sooner,” he said quietly. 

Ishbel pressed her eyes shut. 

The Skinner was right not to trust her, not with his secrets. Even when she had screamed and begged for the woman to stop, when she had told everything she thought she knew, it wasn’t enough. The Operative didn’t believe that the Skinner would be able to keep so many secrets living in such close quarters.

“I betrayed him,” she whispered.

Hunter’s hand squeezed her hand gently. “You didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know,” he assured her. “She’s known the Skinner a long time. The only new development was your presence. Nothing you said will lead her anywhere near him.”

She looked at him, too tired to laugh in disbelief. “You playing me, Hunter?” she asked in a tiny voice. “She’s the bad, you’re the good?” She shook her head slowly. “I don’t have anything left. I don’t.” She shuddered as a small sob broke from her. “She took everything.”

“I’m not playing you,” he said, setting aside the bloody cloth.

Ishbel closed her eyes again. “What happens now?”

“Now?”

“I’m not… useful. Out of gas.” She shivered. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it.”

He leaned over her and for a moment, she thought he was about to smother her, but he made a show of clearing the blood from her cheek, his face close to hers, so close, she could feel his breath on her ear. 

“I heard what you said about Snow,” he whispered. “Planet that small, you can’t hide a living person, especially not when her face is known. How do you hide someone like that? Where can you put someone that no one will look?”

Ishbel opened her eyes as he drew back. He knew something about Snow, about how she had gone off-radar. He had to know something.

To her astonishment, he winked, then straightened up when the door hissed open.

“You done playing nursemaid, Hunter?” Hook inquired, leaning against the doorframe. He grinned nastily at Ishbel. “Can’t have her dying, not when we know the Skinner wants his toy back.”

“So I’m bait?” she whispered, unable to sit up, no matter how she tried. 

“You know,” Hook said lazily, “say what you like about these rim girls, but sometimes, they could almost fool you into thinking they were bright.”

“The air must be thinner out there,” Hunter said. “Get some rest, French. They’ll bring food for you later.”

She spat a shaking profanity after them as the door slid closed, and she heard Hook snort in amusement before there was silence. The lights were dimmed down too, which was a small mercy given how much her head was hurting. 

Everyone back home had heard tell of the Operatives, but no one really wanted to believe they could be as bad as all that. They were, though. 

The electro-cuffs had left marks burned into her skin that she knew she would wear for life, but that was nothing compared to the device that had been hooked against her chest, and burrowed into her skin like metallic snakes. Her throat was still raw from screaming. 

She had tried to be brave, but bravery could only take her so far.

The Operative hadn’t been affected by Ishbel’s distress. She watched and she listened, and she asked questions calmly. The small, pleasant smile never left her face. It widened a little, when Ishbel finally, bloodily confessed that yes, Skinner was on the planet, but by now, he could be gone. 

Now that she thought about it, he couldn’t be gone. It was all a trap for him. Any ships that tried to leave after her capture would have either been penned in or shot down if they tried to flee. The Skinner would know that too. 

Something chimed in her weary mind.

The Operative knew him. Not of him. Knew him. That meant that he must know her as well. He knew how to access Alliance intelligence. He knew how they worked. It wasn’t just the knowledge of someone sitting in the sidelines and researching. That was someone who had seen it at work, who had lived it, who knew it because he had used it himself. 

Ishbel had always wondered if he was connected to the Alliance.

Now, more than ever, it seemed the only explanation. 

If he had defected from the Alliance, when they had already won, he would be a prize catch, just like Snow. 

She closed her eyes, trying to gather her wits. Hunter was trying to tell her something about Snow, about where she had vanished to. The woman’s disappearance was impossible. Flags about the fugitive had been raised almost as soon as Snow had landed on Djinn, and just like that, she vanished. The security teams had searched the place, but no trace had been found.

Every ship was searched before departure, Ishbel remembered. Every one of them was scanned for life readings in the dock before the ships were allowed to heat their engines and take off, in case someone was hiding on board. Unless she had died, there was no way that Snow ever left the surface of Djinn.

It was impossible.

Unless she had died.

Or unless she could make herself appear so.

Ishbel’s lips parted in astonishment. 

That was it. That had to be it. She might not be on the planet anymore at all. If she had been able to fool the sensors on the scanners, then she could be anywhere in the verse. All she would have to do was play dead for a little while.

It was fitting that the girl called Snow would end up in a cryo unit. 

Ishbel was shaking. It was partly because of the pain, but now because she knew just exactly what kind of agent she was dealing with. Snow was steps ahead of all of them, and now, she could see why the Operative was so determined to get every bit of information out of her as possible. 

Hunter said they already knew everything she had said.

The Operative had only asked about the Skinner and Snow, nothing more. 

That meant they didn’t know about the Dreamer or the Nova programme. They didn’t know half the intel she had gathered. The Skinner had pointed her towards the renegades from both sides, and as much as she had seen, there were always some little bits she kept to herself.

The children of Browncoat war survivors tended to be wary of everyone. Those were the people who went home, only to find home wasn’t quite what they thought anymore. Those were the people who were gathered up in the dead of night and sent out to the rim. Those were the people who had lost everything but their lives.

Ishbel knew she wasn’t the only one.

She knew that out there, in the black, others like her were undermining the Alliance where they could, getting what was needed to the people who were desperate. They did what they could and hid what they had to, just to stay alive. Just like she did. 

In the dark of her cell, she breathed slow and quiet, putting the pain aside as much as she could.

She was one of the second generation. 

She hurt, she bled, but she was alive. 

Her papa always told her that no matter how bad things got, as long as she was still alive, that was all that mattered. Just keep breathing, and don’t give up, because the second you gave up, you might as well stop breathing. 

The Skinner would find a way to free her. That she knew. The man was a stubborn jackass. 

She just needed to be ready and take everything she had learned with her when the time came.


	18. Chapter 18

She was a bargaining chip, nothing more or less now, in the eyes of her captor.

That suited Ishbel down to the ground.

It gave her time to recover from the torture.

She knew she looked half-dead. The skin on her wrists had scabbed over, and the bruises were fading. Even the ragged wound in her chest was closed up and healing clean. It didn’t stop every breath hurting like hell.

Without a window or natural light, she had no idea whether it was day or night, but she tried to keep her mind busy. She listened for the distant thuds of footfalls of guards changing in the detention blocks and tried to work out how long it was for each rotation. The guards were no help. Hunter and Hook didn’t come anymore, but she figured they were higher up the ranks than basic cell guards.

Counting was no good. She kept drifting back to exhausted unconsciousness, despite her best efforts, and even if she wanted to, she couldn’t concentrate on counting for the length of a whole day. Her best guess was that she was there at least a week, maybe more. Probably more, because the time after her interrogation was still hazy.

By the time the doors hissed open to let the Operative stalk in, she was at least able to stand up and look like a real human again, even if she hadn’t been able to wash or change since her capture. 

“Looks like you are quite as valuable as we thought,” she said, smiling that poison smile, and beckoning with a single finger over her shoulder. Hook stepped in alongside her. “Shackle her to yourself. We don’t want her running off anywhere.”

Hook grinned. “And if she tries?”

“Oh, she’s a smart girl,” the Operative replied. “She won’t run anywhere, not if she values the Skinner’s life.”

Ishbel tried to look at her defiantly, but she was swaying on her feet. She mutely held out her right wrist, and Hook clasped a broad-cuffed bi-shackle. They had no chains or links, only two metal cuffs linked together at the hinges, and the lock was always on the guard’s side. They were said the be impossible to break out of.

“Looks like we’ve housebroken her,” he said.

“Why him?” Ishbel whispered, her mouth dry. “Why not the other guard?”

“Hunter is… soft,” the Operative replied. “Some duties just don’t suit him.”

Ishbel swallowed hard at the gleeful look on Hook’s face. She knew what it meant. If the deal went wrong and she was no longer of value, then he would be the one to kill her, right away, and he would do it and enjoy it.

She was led through the blank corridors, the Operative ahead of them. Her steps were stumbling and unsteady, but her guard didn’t care. Hook half-dragged her all the way to the ship, and she cried out in alarm when a blindfold was wrapped around her eyes.

“Keep your mouth shut, lamb,” he murmured, close to her ear. “I’m not allowed to kill you yet, but there are all kinds of lovely things I could do to you instead.”

She bit down on her tongue and complied with his instructions, sitting rigid in what had to be a ship of some kind. It felt like hours before she was dragged off to solid ground, somewhere with cold, metal floors and dull echoing walls.

“Wait here,” the Operative said. “If the deal is done, you know the code. Either way.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Hook drawled.

Ishbel shivered, curling her hands into fists to keep them from trembling as she heard the Operative stride away, heels clattering on the floor. Hook was humming to himself, impatient and bored from the sound of things.

“Where are we?” Ishbel finally said.

“Does it matter?” Hook said. “Either you die here or you get dropped somewhere else.” He nudged his left shoulder against her right. “I’m hoping for the former. It’s been a long while since I’ve had a chance to do as I pleased to a pretty girl.”

Ishbel’s throat felt like it was closing. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Think I’m handsome, eh?” he said, chuckling. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first.”

“I think you’re a sick hwun dahn who probably hurts pretty girls all the time,” she retorted in a shaking whisper. She knew the blow was coming, but not where, and it caught her low in the belly, folding her over, gagging.

“Oh, no, pet,” he said darkly, close to her ear. “You’re something special.”

Somewhere in the blindfolded black, she heard a door open.

Hook swore explosively, cheerfully. “What the hell are you doing here?”

A man’s voice replied, “The job. You know how it is.”

“I heard you were dead.”

The other man laughed. “Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated. You know what her High and Mighty Majesty is for keeping things from her employees.” She heard a bottle being shaken. “You up for a drink? You don’t look like you’re going anywhere soon.”

“Baby-sitting,” Hook replied. “Give me a glass.”

The other man walked closer. He was wearing the same kind of boots that most of the guards seemed to wear: heavy, metal-studded and loud in the silence. “I see our beloved Queen has been hard at work on this one. What’s she accused of?”

“Can’t say,” Hook replied. Ishbel heard him swallowing. “What about you? Where are you based…” There was a sudden tug on her wrist as if Hook was pulling on her arm, and a thump of flesh hitting metal.

Her blindfold was pulled off and she squinted against the suddenly-bright light.

“Ishbel French?” The man standing over her was no one she had ever met before. He was dressed like any of the guards, and had the same dark hair, but brighter eyes. He searched her face. “You’re Ishbel French, right?”

She nodded, looking nervously at Hook. He was sprawled, unconscious, a cup tipping from his hand. “Wh-what did you do?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Does he have the key?”

Ishbel shook her head. “The Operative took it,” she whispered.

The man swore colourfully. “You might want to look away now, then,” he said, pulling out a small pack from the pocket of his uniform. Ishbel blanched at the sight of a miniature laser saw and tried to drag her right arm back towards her, but Hook was a dead-weight. The man looked at her. “This isn’t for you.”

“You’d cut his hand off?”

“Unless you’d prefer to stay,” he said impatiently. “There’s no other way out of here, girl, and I don’t have time to pick the lock. You stay, you die. No matter what happens.”

“Why should I trust you?” she demanded, turning her body to shield her and Hook’s arms. She didn’t know why she was defending him, but diving into the protection of another stranger didn’t seem like a good idea, not when she was in an Alliance holding cell.

The man rolled his eyes. “He said you’d be a suspicious little thing,” he said. “He told me to tell you that Meimei is doing well, but she misses you. She’s keeping your bunk neat for you.”

Ishbel’s heart leapt. “The Skinner sent you?”

“And now she sees the light!” The man grabbed her cuffed hand and Hook’s. “Now, hold still.”

Ishbel turned her face away, pressing her other hand over her nose and mouth, but even that wasn’t enough to keep the smell of burning flesh from her senses. She folded over her knees and was sick on the floor.

“This wasn’t part of the plan,” the man said conversationally, as if he wasn’t cutting an unconscious man’s hand off with a laser-saw. She felt the moment he severed the limb. Hook fell limply on the bench, and there was a meaty thump of the hand hitting the floor. “We can pick the rest once we’re out of here.” He helped Ishbel up. “Can you run?”

“I can try,” she said. 

He flashed her a grin. “Good enough.” He hauled her to her feet. “We need to move quickly, before she realises what’s going on.”

Ishbel nodded, trying not to look back at the man they left behind. The man handed her a bundle of clothing, which she pulled on with shaking hands as she walked. Adrenaline and terror were the only thing keeping her on her feet. 

After several corridors, they emerged from the building that backed off what looked like a docking bay. It opened out into a crowded courtyard, and the stink of it hit her like a wave. Persephone’s docks. Skinner knew these places. That’s why they were meeting here. That’s how he had been able to send his ally to get her out. 

“Who are you?” she asked, pulling a shawl around her head and shoulders.

He threw a grin over his shoulder. “You can call me Jefferson.”


	19. Chapter 19

Ishbel stirred.

She could feel the hum of engines beneath her. She could distantly remember her legs giving out beneath her, and Jefferson scooping her up and running. She remembered shouting and though her head was swimming, she forced her eyes open again. 

“Welcome back.”

Ishbel frowned in exhausted confusion. “King?”

George King’s son nodded. “We’re getting you off-world,” he said.

She tried to sit up, but he put his hand on her shoulder. “Rest,” he said. “You look like you need it.”

“The Skinner…”

“Is meeting us at a rendezvous,” he said.

Ishbel pushed his hand aside, sitting up. She looked around warily. “Where am I?” The ship she was in was much bigger than Skinner’s, and in better shape. It was modern, sleek and powerful.

“This is my ship,” King said. “I know it’s a lot of faith to ask for, given what you’ve just been through, but Skinner asked us to get you off-world and that’s what we’re doing.” He touched her hand and she flinched back. King sat back holding up his hands. “Sorry.”

Ishbel clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. “Last time I was in a ship like this, it didn’t end well,” she said quietly. “Where is he?”

“He had to meet up with the Operative who was holding you.”

Ishbel stared at him, then swung her legs off the bunk. “He won’t be able to get off-world,” she said, her voice shaking. “He’ll be trapped there.” She swayed, her head spinning, and put her hand to her brow. “Get me to a console. Any console. I need to get on the cortex. I need to give him an escape route.”

King caught her shoulders, keeping her from falling. “Jefferson is taking care of that,” he said. “Don’t worry. He’ll be meeting us in twelve hours. He told us to get you to safety, and that’s what I plan to do.”

Ishbel grasped at his arm, drawing deep breaths. “Take me to Jefferson,” she said. “I want to see what he’s doing.”

“You can trust him,” King said.

“So you say,” she said slowly, walking unsteadily as he guided her towards the door. “But I don’t know I can trust you, and I know he was a gorram Alliance footman. I’m not going on faith here, not anymore.”

“He was Alliance?”

Ishbel looked at him in disbelief. “Don’t you even ask who you’re getting into bed with?” She paused, then laughed quietly. “Oh. Right. No. You don’t. I forgot.”

King flushed. “I just want to get Snow to safety,” he said.

Ishbel nodded, leaning on his arm. Her chest was hurting like hell. He led her down a narrow corridor, and a door slid aside, revealing an elaborate console room. The other man, Jefferson, was bent close to one of the screens, his eyes fixed on it, and his hands darting across the controls with a speed that almost matched her own.

“A cortex jumper,” she murmured. “Shiny.”

Jefferson didn’t turn. “You shouldn’t be up.”

“Just wanted to be sure you’re doing what you’re meant to,” she said, making her way to a vacant chair and folding down into it with a hiss of pain. King moved towards her, but she waved him away, breathing slowly in and out. “The security net around Persephone is pretty tight.”

“All nets come pre-fitted with holes, if you know where to look,” Jefferson said. “Now, do you mind? I don’t want backseat jumping.”

Ishbel nodded, watching the screen intently.

He knew where to look.

She could tell from the way he teased open security link-ups and opened pathways that he had connections on-planet who might not realise they were still connected. The console lit the grin on his face, as he worked, and she could see him widening the break in the chain around Persephone until there was a blank spot enough for a good pilot in a fast ship to slip through.

“And now,” he said, leaning back in his seat, “we wait.”

“For him to get out?”

Jefferson shook his head, rubbing his eyes.

“For them to notice the gap,” Ishbel murmured. “Keep their eyes on the obvious hole and fighting to fix it, and have another waiting to open when the right person comes knocking.” She looked at Jefferson. “How long?”

“Two hours, give or take. If he’s not out by then…”

Her eyes flicked back to the screen. “He will be,” she said with certainty. She winced again, hand to her chest. “Do you have anything for pain?”

King nodded. “I’ll get you back to the bunk,” he said. “You need to rest.”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Get me somewhere I can clean up and give me something for the pain. I need to be upright. If it goes wrong, Jefferson’s going to need a second pair of hands to keep the gap open.”

Jefferson crooked a wry smile at her. “Your faith in me is astounding,” he said.

“Just get me cleaned up, drugged, and get me a console,” Ishbel said, ignoring him.

Within half an hour, she’d subjected her aching body to a steaming blast of a shower. It was a real fancy ship to have one of those. Her hair was still dripping, but she was breathing more easily when she returned to the console room, wrapped up in clean, warm clothes.

“You okay to log on?” Jefferson asked. Ishbel rattled off a code onto her keyboard, and he grinned. “Stupid question.”

“I have work to do,” she murmured. She knew she didn’t have much time and whether Jefferson and King could be trusted or not, she knew she had to get word out. 

King had gone up to the bridge, and Jefferson’s attention was on the main screen, watching the security feeds from the sentinels of the planet, but she kept one eye on him as she tapped in the coding that would let her access Nova. It looked like a basic programme, barely more than basic coding software, but that was the beauty of the thing.

Trouble was that it took time, and the closer they got to the two hour deadline, the deeper she was getting into the code. 

By the time she reached the edges of Nova, she didn’t have time to give much detail or even to wait for a response, but she rattled of an encrypted message and fed it into Nova, marked for the Dreamer. If Skinner didn’t make it, if she was in another trap, at least someone out there would know what was going on. 

“We have action!” Jefferson said, sitting up suddenly. “Skinner’s code just came through.”

Ishbel shut down Nova instantly, linking into the security feed he had connected her to. “What do I do?” she asked.

Jefferson’s eyes gleamed by screen light. “Sit back and watch a master at work, little jumper,” he said, his hands moving fast as quicksilver. 

As much as she wanted to suspect the worst and doubt and keep her attention on her own console, she couldn’t help watching him. He was gorram amazing, opening up a dozen exits in the security in the same instant, and shutting other official ones down. The skies would be in chaos above Persephone. He was leading them all in a mad dance.

“Round and round they go,” he whispered, “and there we have the tea coming down the spout and…” He was still, silent, rigid, then threw up his hands with a whoop, then slammed down all the exits he had opened. “He’s out!”

“Out?” Ishbel echoed.

“Broke atmo and even if they sent their ships after him, his little golden bug is too quick for them,” he said, slumping in the seat with a sigh of relief and satisfaction. “So, backseat jumper. How did I do?”

Ishbel smiled crookedly. “I’ll tell you when I see him.”

Jefferson rolled his eyes, pushing off from the stool. “And with that magnificent round of applause, I will leave you to your jumping,” he said, stretching. His joints clicked and popped from hours of sitting still. “Don’t go too deep, little jumper. We’re still in deep water.”

Ishbel met his eyes. “Good thing I know how to swim,” she said evenly.

Jefferson laughed. “Oh, I know you do,” he said. “Always have to keep an eye on the competition.” He swept into an extravagant bow. “My lady.”

Ishbel shook her head with a helpless smile.

If he didn’t turn out to be a bad guy, she wondered if he would give her lessons.


	20. Chapter 20

Ishbel couldn't sleep.

She must have rested when she was passed out, but she couldn't sleep. Her chest still ached, and being in an unfamiliar place wasn't helping. She lay in the bunk and stared at the ceiling for as long as she could stand, then rolled out of the bunk and headed out into the ship. 

Her feet were bare but the ship was warm as she padded from the cabins into the body of the ship. It wasn't the biggest she'd seen, but she knew she could easily get lost if she wandered too far. She braced her right hand against the wall and made her way onwards.

The corridors opened up into a landing overlooking a vaulted cargo bay. Most cargo ships looked the part, but this one gleamed, as if it was fresh out of the packaging. In the middle of the bay, there was a table set up, all fancy wood, with matching carved chairs. Some of them had packaging tape stuck to them and one of them was occupied.

Jefferson was sprawled there, feet propped on the table, a fancy china teacup in his hand. "Join my tea party?" he called up to her.

Ishbel shrugged. "Why not?" she said, descending the grid staircase down to the docking bay.

Jefferson kicked out a second chair for her and sat up to pour a second cup of tea. It was lukewarm at best, but sweetened with honey and better than recycled water. She sipped it, watching him over the rim as intently as he was watching her. 

"Why did you help me?" she asked finally.

He grinned at her. "Why did you come with me?" he countered.

She pulled her feet up onto the seat. "Do you think I wanted to die?" she said quietly.

"Do you think I had a choice?"

Ishbel turned the teacup in her hands. Her fingers still twitched and shook from the electric shocks that the Operative had started out with. "You owed him?"

Jefferson loosened the ragged scarf at his neck, tossing it onto the table. "Who doesn't?" he said. "You know him?"

Ishbel's lips turned up. "What do you think?"

"What's his name?" Jefferson challenged.

Ishbel's hands shook, but she kept her expression as blank as she could. "You know?"

"You don't?"

"Does it matter?"

He inclined his head. "Cards on the table," he said. "You have something I want. I have something you want."

Ishbel sipped her tea. "I'm listening," she said.

"You know he's looking for the lost ones?" Jefferson leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. Ishbel didn't, but she inclined her head, smiling quietly like she knew what he was talking about. "He had you contact the Seven, didn't he?"

"Perhaps," she said, trying to hold eye-contact and give nothing away like the Skinner did.

Jefferson's eyes narrowed. "I saw you on the console, little jumper. You went deep enough." He tapped his forefingers together. "How did you access Nova?"

Ishbel's hands tightened around the cup. "I was invited."

Jefferson sank back in his seat, staring at her. “Tsai bu shi!” He ran his hand over his face. "You got one of the Seven to let you into their circle?"

Ishbel's cheeks flushed. "I just did what I usually do," she said. "You don't find them. They find you."

Jefferson shook his head, muttering profanities under his breath. Finally, he pushed aside his own cup and propped his elbow on the table. "Would they give you intel if you asked?"

"You know the answer to that," she said. "It always depends on the intel and the asker."

He knocked his head against the back of the chair. "Gorram Polders. They are stubborn as a rock."

Ishbel watched him in silence for a moment, then asked, "What do you want them to find?"

"Something I can't," he said. "Something out of my reach."

Ishbel stared at him. "I saw you working," she said. "You didn't look like there was anywhere you couldn't go."

He laughed sharply. "Yeah," he said. "In certain circles, I'm the best gorram jumper there is. You go outside those lines and I can't find my ass with both hands and a map."

"The Alliance's central cortex," Ishbel realised as she said it. "You're looking for someone on the outside of the Alliance."

He looked at her, his expression suddenly unreadable. 

She kept her eyes on his face. "Why do you want to find the lost ones?" she said, taking a shot in the dark.

"Why does he?" Jefferson said. He pushed his chair back and bowed, but it was more mocking this time. "You know what he wants." He stalked away from the table, shoving the chair aside in passing with a violence that knocked it onto its back.

Ishbel remained curled up in the chair, watching him go.

Skinner had never once mentioned anything about the lost ones. She'd never heard of them, which meant they weren't technically on the cortex, at least not known by that name. It didn't mean they weren't there. It just meant that if the Skinner, the Alliance and cortex-jumpers couldn't find them, they didn't want to be found and they were damned good at making it stay that way.

She remembered the beacon that the Skinner had been taking to pieces, weeks, months earlier. He'd said that maybe someone wanted to be found. Or maybe they were setting him on a false trail. All the while, he'd been looking for something hidden, something deep down, and that's why he had called on her. She didn't know what she was looking for, but he'd always known the patterns of the search. He just didn't know the cortex like she did.

She was still sitting there, lost in thought when King came down from the cockpit.

"You okay?" he asked, bending to pick up the fallen chair.

Ishbel nodded pensively. She looked up at him. "Did you get the codes the Skinner needed?" she asked.

He looked surprised. "The codes?"

"The Orion project," she said. She didn't know what it was, but for the Skinner to want it, it had to be important. "He made a deal with you for them: the codes for the girl."

King sat down in the chair. "It took some doing," he said, "but yes. My father thought I was going after something else. He didn't see that I managed to get to Orion."

Ishbel set down her cold tea. "Good," she murmured. "How far are we from the rendezvous?" 

"Just starting our descent," he replied. "Are you sure you don't want to rest?"

Ishbel shook her head with a brief smile. "I rested in the cell. Kind of had to." She rubbed at her chest with one hand. It was still aching, where her heart had been twisted and shocked, but she was alive, and all that she had were a few new and exciting scars and some nightmares. It could have been a lot worse. "I want to see Skinner."

King nodded in understanding. "He went crazy when he found out you'd been taken," he said. "Wrecked the place we met."

"He does that," Ishbel said. She unfolded from the chair. "Has he called in?"

King smiled. "He's waiting for us there."

Ishbel rose. "How long?"

"Time enough for you to get to the doors," he replied.

Ishbel couldn't keep the dumb grin off her face, as she headed in the direction of the doors. She felt the impact as the ship came in to land. She shifted from foot to foot, as the internal then external doors hissed open. A blast of winter-cold air flooded the chamber, stealing her breath for a moment, and once the air cleared, she could see Skinner standing in the docking bay, leaning on his stick. He looked as pale and haggard as she felt.

He saw her. She could tell the second he saw her, because he smiled, held out a hand.

The metal of the landing ramp was still crisp with ice and burned her bare feet, but she didn't give a good gorram as she ran down towards him and crashed into his arms.


	21. Chapter 21

They were going to stay planetside for half a day.

The Skinner told her she wasn’t going anywhere until she rested and made sure there weren’t any after effects from her time in the Operative’s custody. He ignored Jefferson and King, taking her straight back to his ship, down into his bunk, where he sat her down and started to wash every little bit of her with his own two hands.

He knew she’d cleaned up, just like any freed prisoner would, but she didn’t stop him. She didn’t want to stop him. 

His sleeves were rolled up and the water was lukewarm from being run through the recycler, but it didn’t matter, because he took his time, his expression darkening with each wound he uncovered. King had provided all kinds of medical care, and the swelling had gone down a lot, but the marks weren’t going anywhere, not for a long time, if ever.

Ishbel sat cross-legged, watching as he washed each wrist. The stun-shackles had burned, but she could hardly feel any pain anymore. The nerves must have been shot.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

The Skinner looked up. “For what?”

She tried to smile, but it didn’t make it as far as her lips. “I told her,” she said. “I told her so much. I tried not to.”

The Skinner’s expression was stricken. “Don’t worry about that, love,” he said, lifting her hand and gently kissing the bloody bracelet that would leave scars in time to come. “I should never have let her find you.”

Her fingers uncurled against his cheek. “You warned me you had enemies,” she said.

He nodded, closing his eyes. “You shouldn’t have been the one to be hurt.”

Ishbel leaned forward and put both her arms around him, holding him tight. “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m back. You’re here. We’re both alive. It’s a hell of a lot more than some people have, Skinner.”

One of his hands trembled against her back. “That’s not my name.”

Ishbel’s heart skipped a beat. “You don’t need to tell me,” she said.

“I want to,” he said, drawing back far enough to look her in the eye. “You have earned that much.” He drew a breath and released it. “Gold. My name is Gold.”

Ishbel looked at him. “Why is it such a secret?” she asked. “It’s not like there aren’t others with that name.”

“It’s my name,” he said, looking at her gravely. “And it was my rank.”

Ishbel’s hands were resting on his bare forearms. “Rank? You were Alliance, then?”

“You suspected?”

She shrugged a shoulder, wincing as her chest pulled. “You had access to Alliance intel without me,” she said. “You dress up real fancy, like someone from high up, not someone who started out low and was trying to look like he knew how to dress fancy.”

He shook his head with a crooked smile. “You always look closely, don’t you?” he said.

“Close someone up in a ship with no one else to look at and it happens,” she said. “She was looking for you. The Operative. You and Snow.” She squeezed his arm. “What does she want from you?”

“She thinks I know where to find something she’s looking for.”

“The lost ones?” Ishbel guessed.

Sk… no, Gold’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Where did you hear that?”

“Jefferson,” she replied. “He thought you’d set me looking for them.” She searched his features. “You did, didn’t you? I just didn’t know it.” She took a breath as another pain shot through her chest. “And she was pretty gorram sure I knew about it.”

“She did worse than the cuffs?” He looked furious.

Ishbel hesitated, then undid the buttons of her jumpsuit. The wound on her chest was covered in medicated gunk from King’s medics. Gold stared at it in horror, one hand rising to cover it, so softly she couldn’t even feel it.

“I’ll kill her myself,” he snarled.

Ishbel caught his hand where it was resting. “Forget her,” she said.

“After she did this?”

Ishbel nodded firmly. “You don’t need to avenge me,” she said, squeezing his hand tightly. He didn’t look convinced. “We’ll find the lost ones. She won’t. That’ll be the best thing we can do to make her mad.”

“Ishbel, she struck electrodes into your gorram heart!”

Ishbel nodded. “Yeah,” she said, “and the point is that it’s _my_ gorram heart. Not yours. You don’t get to say how I get revenge on people who hurt me.” She wrapped her other hand around his too. “She wants the lost ones. We got to make sure she doesn’t find them.”

He covered their linked hands with his other hand. “I can’t make any promises,” he said, “if I find myself in the same room as her.”

Ishbel nodded. That was as much a concession as she could have hoped for. Her father would have been the same. A hurt for a hurt, a life for a life, an electrode to the heart for… well, she didn’t know what the equivalent was, but she was pretty sure Gold did. 

“So how do we find the lost ones?” she asked.

“It was meant to be the Orion database,” he said, setting down her hands and taking up the washcloth and bowl again. “Last I heard, that was meant to be the best tracking system in the verse.”

Ishbel pushed the top of her jumpsuit down to let him sponge her skin. “Not so much?”

“Bait,” he replied grimly. “They expected I would want to get my hands on it, even if I already knew where the lost ones were.” He exhaled. “I don’t know if they set me up to look for Snow, but they knew I would come for it from someone high up.”

“That’s why they were waiting.” 

His eyes were on the wound in her chest as he gently cleaned around it. “The only other chance we would have for finding them is by finding Snow now,” he said. “She and the seven are the only ones who could even start to crack whatever code they’ve secured it with.”

“Couldn’t I try?”

He shook his head. “This is Alliance code,” he said. “If Jefferson can’t get around it, you have no hope.” He set the washcloth back down in the bowl. “Looks like you were hurt for no good reason.”

Ishbel smiled quietly, lifting her hands to cup his cheeks. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” she said. “I met someone in there who wasn’t afraid to give me some intel.” She waited until he met her eyes, puzzled. “I might have found Snow after all.”

“After she left Djinn?” Gold said.

Ishbel grinned. “If I’m right,” she said, “she never left Djinn. She was stashed away somewhere that no one would look for her. I sent the Dreamer a line, let him know where she might be. If I’m right, she’s going to owe me.”

Gold stared at her in astonishment. “You get tortured and you managed to collect the intel we need at the same time?” he said. “What kind of woman are you?”

She leaned closer and kissed him softly. “One of a kind.”


	22. Chapter 22

The Dreamer's message reached them three days after Gold and Ishbel were reunited. 

It turned out that the eyes of the Seven had been on Djinn for some time. It was the last place their leader had been seen, and whether she was alive or dead, she had not left the planet. 

It had taken a day of resting easy before Gold would let her anywhere near the consoles, and even now, he wouldn't let her lift a finger. The most she was allowed to do was to pick up her own teacup, and she was pretty sure if she hadn't glared at him, he would have tried to do that for her too.

It wasn't that she was healed up.

She still hurt all over, but there was nothing she hated more than sitting helpless and waiting for people to look after her.

He was making them breakfast when she snuck out of their bunk, even though her chest ached as she pulled herself up the ladder. By the time he came through from the engine-room, she was sitting at the console, running her hands over the controls. 

"What are you doing up?"

"My job," Ishbel said, staring at the screen. She looked around at him. "They found her."

Gold stopped where he was. "They?"

Ishbel's face broke in a tired smile. "The Seven. Snow is off Djinn and back in the land of the living." She rattled some code back into Nova, watching as the message was picked up. "They want to rendezvous with us on one of the moons of Nephthys."

Gold approached slowly, his steps careful, as if he didn't trust himself to be able to walk. "Snow will meet us?"

"Well, mostly me," she said with a crooked smile, "but you're invited too." She turned on the stool, accepting the bowl of warm mush from him, stirring it with the spoon. “They’ll expect honesty, y’know. They don’t trust the Alliance.”

“Did you give them my name?” he asked, watching her.

“Only your alias,” she said. She gazed at him. “You didn’t tell me Gold was the Operative who supervised the lockdown of Leopold.”

He averted his face. “I followed an order I didn’t understand,” he said tersely. “Blue Star said they were developing the weaponry on Leopold. We had no reason to doubt it. It wasn’t until the survivors got their story out that I understood what had been done to the planet.”

“The top levels are good at that,” Ishbel said. “It’s the people at the bottom who get the crap.” She ate a spoonful of the mush. “I’m not going to tell you it wasn’t your fault. That’s not my place, but you’re going to face some of the survivors, and they know who you are.”

“You said…”

She gave him a crooked smile. “You think they can’t do the math?” she said. “The Dreamer has seen you. They can get in anywhere. If anyone was going to know who you are, it would be one of the Seven.”

He was silent for a long while, bracing his hand on the edge of the console.

“I need their help,” he finally said.

“To find the Lost ones?” Ishbel guessed.

He was still, silent, then nodded slowly. “My son.”

Ishbel set her bowl down in her lap. “You have a son?”

He nodded. “He found out about Leopold,” he said. “I told him I would make amends. Try to do what I could against the Alliance.” He drew a shaking breath. “The Alliance found him first.” His smile was a tight, bitter twist of his lips. “If you don’t give loyalty, they… coerce. They take what they need.”

“They still have him?”

“Thankfully, no,” he replied. “They were gathering youngsters, children of Operatives and agents who were losing favour, but not all of the children were helpless.” He leaned against the console. “Some escaped. The Lost ones. Kids with renegade parents, a price on their heads and a chip on their shoulders.”

Ishbel shook her head, dazed. “Are they against the Alliance now?”

Gold laughed briefly, and for a moment, looked his age. “They are against the world,” he said, “but they’ve been getting sloppy. I’ve seen their mark. If they leave marks, that means a trail, and if there’s a trail, that means they can be found, and I will _not_ let the Alliance find my boy again, even if means I can’t find him either.”

Ishbel covered his hand with hers. “We can ask Snow,” she said.

“We can,” he said, looking at her hand, then up at her face. “You give me the time, the place and the coordinates, and I’ll get us there.” He glanced at the screens. “Will they be expecting King and Jefferson?”

“They won’t be unexpected,” Ishbel replied. “They’ve been keeping watch on Jefferson, in case of suspicious activity. Snow knows King has been looking for her. She’s… not unhappy if he tags along.”

“Good,” Gold murmured, drawing back from her. “I’ll go and change our course, and let them know that we’re heading in the direction of Nephthys.”

He remained withdrawn and terse for the remainder of the journey, day after day, but Ishbel could understand why. On top of his missing kid, he was facing down one of the survivors of the planet he had sealed up and watched die.

He was afraid.

In the hours before they finally came into Nephthys’s orbit, he woke her in their shared bunk, and without saying a word, he made love to her, lavishing affection on each and every scar she wore because of him, and holding her like it was the last chance he would get.

She touched his cheek as they lay tangled together. “You didn’t need to do that,” she said.

“I did,” he murmured. He brushed her hair back behind her ear. “If anything happens to me when we get there, you take the ship and you go home. You’re better off out of this war.”

“You think they’ll want revenge,” she murmured.

“I would,” he said.

She kissed him again. “But you’re not them,” she said. “Let them make that decision.”

He nodded reluctantly. “All the same…”

“If anything happens,” she sighed, “I will go home, but only after I make sure they get your son and the Lost ones somewhere safe.”

He looked at her, lost. “Why?”

“Same reason I took electrodes to the heart for you,” she said with a smile. “I got attached.”

“And I’ll never understand why,” he said, watching her as she rose and started to dress.

She looked over her shoulder with a quick grin. “Enclosed space, not much to do,” she said. “I was bored.”

He reached out to swat her backside and for the first time in days, he smiled. 

It didn’t last, as he took them in to land on Sobek. It was the smallest of Nephthys’s moons, and definitely the best place to take an enemy if you wanted to get the drop on them and hide the body all in one go.

“You could stay on the ship,” she offered, as the ramp hissed down. “You don’t need to face them.”

“Yes,” he said, “I do.” He withdrew his arm from hers and that pained her, even if she knew he was distancing himself from her for her own safety. He nodded down the ramp. “I’ll follow,” he said. “This is your show.”

Ishbel leaned close enough to kiss him on the cheek, then hurried down the ramp.

The moon was a desert dustbowl, and the group waiting at the bottom were all wearing headdresses which shielded them from the sun. Ishbel raised a hand to shield her eyes, then beamed as she recognised the Dreamer. He raised his hand in greeting and she ran down the ramp to meet him.

“You got out alive, huh?” he said, looking her up and down. 

“Mostly intact,” she said. “I brought the Skinner with me.”

The Dreamer’s face hardened as he looked up at the ship, and at Gold who was standing on the ramp silently. “Yeah,” he said. He turned to the veiled figure next to him and inclined his head. “Your call, Snow.”

Snow drew her veil down from her face. 

She was striking, fierce and proud. “You’re Operative Gold,” she said.

“I was,” Gold replied as he descended the ramp and stopped at the bottom. He rested his hands on top of his cane.

Ishbel swore as Snow drew her pistol from her belt, lunging for her. The Dreamer caught her around the middle, hauling her back, and Ishbel lashed at his arms, screaming, “Huh choo-shung tza-jiao duh tzang-huo!”

“This isn’t your fight, little girl,” Snow said, raising the gun and pointing it at Gold.

“The hell it ain’t!” Ishbel snarled, clawing at the Dreamer’s arm.

“Ishbel,” Gold’s voice was calm and quiet. “Let the lady do what she has to.”

Ishbel jerked free, putting herself in front of the barrel. “To hell with you,” she said, her voice cold and hard. “You want him dead, you go through me.”

Snow looked at her, then at Gold. “You willing to die for him, girl?”

Ishbel wrenched open her blouse and showed the ragged scar. “What do you think?”


	23. Chapter 23

They weren't guests, but they weren't quite prisoners either.

Gold was sitting rigidly on a crate in Snow's ship, watched suspiciously by two of the Seven. Ishbel wasn't sure about leaving him, but Snow had holstered her pistol, and gave the order he was to be unharmed, and Ishbel believed they would obey her.

"Dreamer says you're one of the smoothest cortex skimmers he's ever seen," Snow said, leading her over to the moxt beautiful and complex console she had ever seen in her life. 

Ishbel blushed. "I just read what's in front of me," she said.

"Told you," the Dreamer said.

He was sitting on the stool at the console, drumming his fingers in rhythmic patterns across the keys. He glanced at Ishbel. "We have another ship incoming," he said. "You said that it was King and a cortex jumper, right?"

"Jefferson," Ishbel said with a nod. 

The screens lit up like new year, and Jefferson's face appeared on one of the screens.

Snow leaned on the back of the Dreamer's stool, looking closer. "Hatter," she murmured. "I heard he'd dropped out of the world."

"Out of the Alliance," Ishbel said, rubbing her wrists self-consciously, remembering how he had broken her free. "He's looking for the Lost ones as much as Gold."

"Can't help thinkin' there's something off about that," Dreamer said, opening up file after file on Jefferson on the screen. "Two ex-Alliance guys with their own agendas looking for the kids who got away."

"Gold says the Lost ones are the kids who were taken as leverage," Ishbel murmured. "The bargaining tool to keep people loyal."

Snow looked at her sharply. "Is that so?" She nudged Dreamer, who slipped off the stool and let her take his place. If Dreamer had seemed fast, he had nothing on Snow, and Ishbel caught her breath, watching the layers of code open up like flowers under the leader of the Seven's touch. "We had only heard they were kids who escaped."

"Not something the Alliance spread around," Ishbel said. "Hold up." She leaned closer, touching one of the screens. "Here. What was this?"

"Two years of settlement," Snow said. "What about it?"

Ishbel's eyes darted over the screens. "Look at the pattern," she said. "He was a jumper in every sense of the word. Wasn't just cortex. He was all over the gorram verse, except in that two year block." 

Snow nodded, pulling up the records of the planet in question. "Huh," she murmured. "There you are."

"You sure it's him?" Dreamer said.

"I knew Hatter back in the day," Snow said. "Never saw him as a settling kind. He wouldn't put his name to a kid, but if you knew the aliases he used." She smiled briefly. "Grace O'Hare. She'll be about twelve now, if these records are accurate."

One of the top screens flashed up.

"Incoming!" Dreamer said, hitting a series of buttons.

King's face appeared on the screen, and Ishbel saw the way Snow's face lit up.

"Snow!" King exclaimed.

"You found me," she said with a smile. "You coming in to join the party?"

"We're on our descent now," he said. "ETA in ten minutes."

"Oh yeah," Dreamer murmured. "Alliance head honcho's son, an ex-operative and an alliance cortex jumper, all hanging out with us. This is going to go well."

"Don't forget ex-Alliance hostage," Ishbel said dryly. "Can't forget I was hanging out with them too."

Dreamer looked at her. "True," he agreed. "Let's go watch the landing."

King's ship was easily ten times the size of Gold's and the modest ship that housed the Seven. It threw up thick clouds of dust as it settled on the desert floor, and the door hissed down, sparking and glittering with ice.

Ishbel wasn't sure who moved faster, but King and Snow crashed into one another in the space between their ships. 

"And there are some things you just don't need to see," Dreamer said.

Ishbel nudged him with a smile. "Admit it, you're happy she's happy," she said.

A small smile crooked one side of his mouth up. "Don't tell anyone," he warned. "Snow! We need to get back indoors. Bring your boy and his toy."

"You're going to hack Orion?" Ishbel said.

"If the alliance are going after the Lost ones, we need to get to them first and get the under cover," he said. He jerked his head, back into the ship. "We should go and warm up the mine."

"The mine?"

He grinned. "You want to see where Nova is based?" he asked.

Ishbel hurried after him.

For all that the huge console had blown her away, the mine was something else entirely. It was a small, compact machine. It hardly looked bigger than a screen unit, but the way it lit up, the codes that poured all over the screen, made her sit down in awe.

"Not bad, huh?" Dreamer said.

"Not bad?" Ishbel turned around at Jefferson's voice. The man sounded stunned. "Are... you're kidding me, right? Not bad?"

Ishbel waved her fingers. "Hey," she said. 

"Hey," Jefferson replied, eyeing Dreamer. "You're him, aren't you? The creator of Nova?"

Dreamer folded his arms over his chest. "How do you know about Nova?" he asked.

"I hear things," Jefferson said. "They say it's the heart of the cortex. They say if you get into it, you can see anything and everything. They say it's as close to gorram magic as a cortex jumper can get."

"Eh." The Dreamer shrugged. "Something like that." He nodded towards the screen. "You want to throw Orion into the mix and see what we can find."

Jefferson held out a data drive. "I wouldn't know where to start."

Dreamer took the drive, closing his hand around it. "Watch and learn, Junior," he said, sitting down at the screen. "You're about to learn how to fly."

Ishbel didn't know how long they were standing there just watching, but the second Dreamer hooked into Nova, she could see why he had the reputation he did. He wasn't just a jumper. He was a miner. He went deep in the system, deeper than anyone she had ever seen, and he did it like it was as natural as breathing.

Jefferson was watching as intently as she was. She could swear he was holding his breath, as the patterns of Orion opened up and spread and Nova went deeper still.

"You did it," he whispered. "You hacked the codes."

Dreamer smirked at the screen. "It's what I do, junior," he said.

Ishbel squeezed Dreamer's shoulder. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?" he asked without looking back.

"For letting us see you at work."

He laughed. "Don't let anyone know, but I like to show off." He glanced up at her. "You might want to go get your Tin man. If this has access to data on the Lost ones, he's going to wanna know about it."

Ishbel nodded, running to fetch Gold from the cargo bay.

"They're going to help," she whispered, slipping her hand into his. Her heart was racing, painfully so, with the thought she could help him find out what had happened to his long-lost son.

Gold's hand was iron-tight around hers. "I can hope."

Jefferson was standing by Dreamer's chair, his arms folded tightly over his chest. He nodded to Gold. "You too?"

Gold inclined his head. "Yours?"

"Girl," Jefferson said. "Grace."

"Boy," Gold murmured. 

"Bay Lee by any chance?" Dreamer inquired as a file opened on the screen and an image.

Gold uttered a small, strangled sound, and Ishbel's heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was about to burst. "Bay," he gasped out, releasing Ishbel's hand to brace himself against the back of Dreamer's chair. 

"His record," Dreamer said. "They don't know where he is, but he's been seen."

"My boy," Gold's voice was shaken, and Ishbel wanted to put out her hand, to touch him, to let him know she was just as happy as he was, but her chest was hurting, hurting bad, like the scars were breaking open with every beat of her heart.

She looked down at her chest.

Blood was oozing through her blouse.

"Gold?" she said in small voice.

He turned just in time to see her fall.


	24. Chapter 24

"Ishbel? Ishbel, can you hear me, sweetheart?"

It was light all around, and Ishbel could hear a machine beeping.

Her head felt light, but she turned her face in the direction of Gold's voice, squinting. His features came into focus, and she could see he was holding her hand, even if she couldn't feel it. He pressed his lips to her knuckles.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Hey," he said, stroking her brow. "Welcome back."

Her mouth felt dry and and swollen. "Did I bust my stitches?"

Gold looked up at someone standing on her other side and she turned her head to find Doc, one of the Seven standing over her. 

"We have a problem," he said grimly. "When she was doing what she was doing, the Operative implanted a tracking chip into your heart."

Ishbel stared at him, blinking wearily. She felt like she was listening to him from a long way away. "A tracking chip?" she echoed. "Can it be removed?"

"We're looking into it," Doc said, "but right now, we've had to leave it where it is. We wouldn't have found it if you hadn't started bleeding out." He helped her sit up enough to take a drink from a small cup of water. "You're stable for now, but we need to find out how to disable that chip."

Ishbel looked at Gold. "She knew you'd come for me," she said hoarsely. "She knew I'd get out."

He nodded, his expression bleak. "I thought Orion was the bait," he said. 

She put her hand over her chest, breathing slow and shallow. "We have an advantage, though," she said. "She doesn't know we know. No one was meant to find it. As far as she knows, we're going to lead her just where she needs to be."

"To Snow and the Lost ones," Dreamer's voice said from behind her. He came around the side of the table she was sitting on. "Jefferson's been watching for chatter on the Alliance lines, and I've gone deep. She hit the Verse hours after you all broke clear of Persephone. It's a safe bet to say she's following."

"Aiya, tyen ah.” Ishbel murmured. She swung her legs down over the side of the bed.

All three men exclaimed and Gold rose from the chair, putting his hands to her shoulders.

"You need to rest," he said. "You just had surgery!"

She wrapped her hand around his forearm. "The hell I do," she said tersely. She could feel she was swaying, but that didn't matter. "That puo-foo is using me as a homing beacon. Least I can do is find some way to turn her around."

Gold's hand was in her hair, supporting her head as he helped her lie back. "We will," he said. "We're on the move now. You catch your breath. We'll bring you a console, but you're not leaving this bed. I'm not having you bleeding out again."

She looked up at him, her fingers tightening on his arm. "I'm tougher than I look," she whispered. "Don't put me out for the count yet."

He pressed his brow to hers. "I know," he said, "but I prefer you alive and conscious." 

She could see the concern in his expression, and nodded, breathing slowly in and out. "Get me back on the cortex. Let me see what everyone else is seeing." She pushed him back gently and glanced around. "Snow's ship?"

He shook his head. "King's. We're going to planet-hop, lay out a false trail, buy us some time."

"What about your ship?"

He smiled crookedly. "Against my better judgement, one of the Seven is flying her."

"Snow and King?"

"Snow's skimming the intel," Dreamer said. He had his arms folded over his chest and was watching her intently, as if he expected her to collapse again. "We're thinking a divide and conquer thing's the best bet. Some of us find the Lost ones and get them somewhere out of the Alliance's eyeline, and the rest of us..." He smirked. "Did you ever watch a cat chase a spot of light?"

"You could ditch me planetside," Ishbel said. "She'd come after me. That'd give guys time to rabbit."

"Hell no." Gold snapped.

She looked at Gold. "There's more than just me at stake here," she said quietly. "You, the Seven, Snow, the Lost ones. One person for all those people: it's a fair price." He shook his head and she put out her hand to touch his cheek. "Not like I ain't done it before."

"I had no intention of killing you," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "Not before, and not now. She wouldn't be nearly so considerate."

"She might think you ditched me somewhere safe," Ishbel argued, but even as she said it, she knew the Operative wouldn't think of it that way. 

If he was willing to put himself in the firing line to save her before, he wouldn't let her go, and the Operative would know that. If she wasn't useful to the Operative anymore, there was no doubt she would end up with worse than a tracking chip in her chest. 

"We can play hide and seek with her, don't you worry, sister," Dreamer said. "We've done it before. We can do it again." He reached down to squeeze Ishbel's hand. "I'll dig you out one of my consoles. Doc's gonna look into getting that thing out of your chest."

Ishbel grasped his fingers. Tell Jefferson to let slip some intel on the cortex," she said. "He's good, but if she thinks he's in a hurry, she might believe he'd get sloppy. Have it out long enough and then pull it back like he realised too late."

Dreamer grinned at her. "You've got a troublesome mind there, sister," he said.

Ishbel glanced at Gold, who was watching her, worry written all over his face. "I learned from the best," she said.

Dreamer headed out of the med bay, and Doc's nose was buried in a medical text on his comm panel.

"You're being very brave, love," Gold said, stroking her hair.

She laughed unsteadily. "Don't trust a pretty girl with a chest wound," she said. "She'll fool you." She looked up at him, and her eyes were pricking even though she didn't want them to. "I'm scared as hell."

He lifted her hand to his lips again. "You and me both," he said. She uncurled her finger to brush along his cheek, and he smiled crookedly. "This isn't what I signed up for, when I hired you, you know."

"Hired?" she said, raising her eyebrows in mock shock. "Hiring means pay." Her voice was sounding slurred in her own ears. After effects of the drugs she was pumped full of, she had no doubt. "You sure as hell didn't pay me."

He smiled against the back of her hand. "Giving you a huge console and a free pass to the verse doesn't count?" he inquired, rubbing his cheek against her knuckles.

"We survive this, and I'll let you know," she replied drowsily. She smiled faintly at him. "I'm glad you came for me."

"Me too," he whispered. "I love you."

Ishbel smiled as her eyes fell closed. "Yeah," she murmured. "I know."


	25. Chapter 25

They planned out a layover on a neutral planet.

Gold wanted to get back on his own ship, and Ishbel didn't blame him.

King's ship was a beauty, but it was too big, too shiny, too sterile. There was no personality to it, no charm. Even if the med bay was top class, Ishbel missed the bunk she shared with Gold, where she was lulled to sleep by the hum of the engines and the warmth of his arms.

She was still weak when they were nearing the stopover point, and her chest ached like hell. 

Doc wasn't any closer to finding out a weakness in the tracker. He'd tried to explain why they couldn't just yank it out, but the words he used were too long and complicated, and finally Gold pulled the man aside and spoke quietly to him.

When he returned, his expression was grim.

"It's removable," he said, "but there could be a lot of bleeding, and right now, they don't know if Regina has fitted it with any triggers."

"If she has, I'd be decorating the walls, I'm guessing?" Ishbel said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Gold nodded. "Miniature explosives are sometimes used like that, yes," he agreed quietly. "Dreamer is working on hacking it, but that's the best we can do, unless you want to risk taking it out." 

"Leave it for now," Ishbel said, and that was that. 

Doc kept looking and Dreamer kept working on hacking into the signal being fed out by the chip. They all kept flying, and those who could skim and jump did what they could to find the people that the Alliance wanted to be led to. 

They were about a day out from Eirene when a call came over the comm from Gold's ship and Gold was called away to answer it. Ishbel was propped up in her borrowed bunk with one of Dreamer's mini-consoles propped in her lap. It was hard to focus or go as smooth or deep as she would like, but she was working on what she could with Dreamer's guidance, searching for the signal of her tracker chip.

Gold returned several minutes later.

Ishbel looked up from the screen. "Anything new?"

"Sounds like our friend the Operative is growing bored of playing hide and seek," he said. "She's patched through a message to my ship. Coded it up and left it for us."

Ishbel put the console down. "What does she want?"

"No idea," Gold said, "but we'll find out at landfall. She knows I pilot, so she won't wonder why I didn't answer right away." He sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. "You could stay here. It might be safer."

"Of course," she said dryly. "Safer. I'm only the one with the tracker chip lodged in my heart. I'm safe and snug as a bug."

He lifted his hand to brush her hair back from her cheek. "We'll find a way to get that thing out of you and shake her off our tail," he said. She leaned closer to him and put her arms around his middle, resting her head on his shoulder. 

"And find your son," she murmured.

"That's a pipe dream," he murmured, cradling the back of her head. "You first, then us, then the Lost ones. The chip has to be gone."

She drew back to look at him. "And what if it can't be?" she asked.

"I won't believe that," he said simply. "There's going to be a way." 

She laid her head on his shoulder. "Maybe," she said. 

When they made landfall, they went straight back to his ship. The shyest, quietest member of the Seven had been the pilot, and he barely nodded a greeting as they crossed paths on the boarding ramp.

Ishbel was leaning on Gold, her arm around his waist, and she felt like hell.

"You want to go to the bunk?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I want to see what she's got to say," she said. "Just sit me on a crate and I'll be good for a few minutes."

He acquiesced reluctantly, setting her down on one of the crates near the door. She leaned back against the wall, her eyes closed lightly. He pressed his lips to her forehead, then made his way to the consoles, booting them all up. The familiar hum made Ishbel smile.

She could hear him typing and the buzz of a code panel being scanned. He recited a series of numbers and code words in rapid succession. There was a soft chime, and she heard Gold breathe out long and slow.

"You took your time."

The Operative's voice sent a chill down Ishbel's spine.

"I didn't know you would be waiting, Regina," he said.

The woman laughed. "Oh, come on, Gold," she said. "You didn't think I would just let you run off with the girl, did you? We have unfinished business, you and I."

Ishbel cracked her eyes open enough to see Gold sitting upright in front of the screen, his arms folded across his chest. She couldn't see his face, but she could imagine his expression.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

She smiled that familiar, poisonous smile, and Ishbel closed her eyes against the sickening burn of nausea and terror. The woman was light years away, and she still could turn Ishbel's spine to ice with a look. 

"You know what I want," she said. "You know who I'm after."

"Snow and the Seven," Gold said flatly. "How do you know I even know where they are?"

She made a small, dismissive sound. "I know you've been seen travelling with them," she said. "You were seen on the same planet as King's runaway son. Your ship and one other were seen leaving at the same time, and how about that? Three ships travelling together have been picked up on radars by Alliance patrols on the edge of the neutral zone."

"Could be coincidence," Gold said dryly. "They do happen."

"Or could be your little lamb needs better medical care than your tin can could provide," she replied. "Tell me, how's our little Princess doing?"

Gold's voice was colder, harder. "She'll live."

"Of course she will," the Operative said in honeyed tones. "But this isn't a get well soon call. You know I want that renegade and her band of pirates. We could come to a deal."

He was silent for a time. "What do I get out of it? Do your hunters get called off at last?"

"If you promise a life of non-interference in Alliance affairs, we can make sure you, your little strumpet, and that boy of yours all get wiped from the record. No names, no identities, no more looking over your shoulder."

It was a gorram good deal.

To be without a record, to be free from the Alliance scrutiny, was a whole new life.

Of course, that meant you had to trust the hand of the one offering it.

"I'll think about it."

The Operative laughed. "Of course you will," she said. "It's a good deal. When are you next taking the sky?"

"Twelve hours," Gold replied. "Time to breathe and refuel."

"You have eleven and a half," she said. "I'll call back then."

The screen blanked, and Gold sat silently for a moment before shutting down every console and camera.

Ishbel pushed herself upright into a sitting position on the hefty crate. "What do you think?" she said.

"I believe that woman is planning to kill us all," he said, his hand still resting on the console. "There's more than one way to wipe a record. One of them is difficult and takes time, money, and influence. The other one is a bullet."

"Or worse," Ishbel said quietly. "She's still coming after us, and she's going to catch up, and if she doesn't, whatever this thing in my chest is, she could trigger it any time."

"Then we just need a gorram good plan when she and half the Alliance navy catch up with us," he said, rising, leaning on his cane. He stalked across the cabin, sealing the doors, to make sure they were undisturbed. 

Ishbel drummed her heels against the crate she was sitting on, lost in thought. "It would have to be something big," she said. "If we could fool 'em into following the beacon into a trap and we had some..." She shook her head. "I don't know. Something to make a really, really big bang. Fool 'em into thinking we're mess on the floor."

Gold was staring at her, silent, and she frowned.

"what?"

He lowered his eyes and she looked down, following his line of sight.

The crate. It was the last they had from the ice-desert planet, full of the fine and highly-unstable sand.

It took her a moment to realise what he meant and a slow grin spread across her face as she looked up at him.

"You said it exploded, right?"

"In the presence of heat, yes," he replied, the exhaustion falling away from his face, replaced with a look of absolute delight. "I think we've found where our dear friend the Operative will make her last stand."


	26. Chapter 26

"We can't guarantee she'll come herself," Snow said.

Gold tapped his finger on the polished table. "It's not about her coming," he said. "It's about making her see what we want her to see."

Ishbel was sitting at his side, listening. They were congregated in the vast hold of King's ship, sitting at the table that Jefferson had occupied only days before. Gold hadn't been eager to take advantage of their allies, but Ishbel insisted. They needed something big, something dramatic.

"I don't see how we can do that without putting people at risk," Snow said simply. "You want her to follow you to this planet. That means that Ishbel would have to be planetside to convince her."

"I may not have to be," Ishbel said. "We're working on rerouting the signal from the tracker."

"And if you can't do that?" King asked. "You can't be live bait. We don't leave people to die." He was looking at Gold when he said it.

Gold rose, and Ishbel could feel the fury radiating off him. "You arrogant..."

She reached up and took his hand. "Gold," she said quietly. "Not now."

He fixed his eyes on King, his nostrils flaring and a muscle in his cheek twitching, but he nodded and subsided. "Ishbel is not going to be on the planet," he said. "She's not going to be left in danger."

She curled her fingers around his hand, squeezing it. She could feel the tension in him like a wire, and she could see the anger seething beneath the surface. "We need to find the Lost Ones," she said. "We know somewhere safe for them to go, somewhere the Alliance won't look."

"Working on it," Dreamer said. He nodded to Jefferson. "The little rabbit can hop. Together, we should be able to find something or at least get their attention, as long as we're not too late."

Snow nodded. "Keep looking. Get word out. We need them to call us if we can't call them." She looked at Gold. "So we lure her to the planet. What if she doesn't hit the ground?"

"Then she sees the fireworks," Gold replied. "I don't imagine she won't send in some of her men to take the ships. One of them might get trigger happy. Something might spark. That's when the ships would go up." He looked darkly at King. "If you can cope with losing your precious boat."

"If it means Snow and the Seven get clear of this Operative, then I'm in," King said. "A boat can be replaced. A person can't."

Ishbel closed her eyes and let the rest of the conversation wash over her. She and Gold had discussed the possibilities at length before bringing the ideas to the table. After all, it was their freedom that had been offered in exchange for the lives of the woman and men on the ship with them. 

They had six hours until the Operative would be back in contact. 

She must have drifted to sleep as they talked. It happened. Up twenty hours, planning a rebellion, and trying to heal after open-heart surgery did things to the body. She stirred groggily when a hand gently brushed her cheek. 

Gold was leaning closer to her and the rest of the table was clear. The cargo hold was empty, though Ishbel had the feeling they were still being watched. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

She smiled tiredly. "Not dead," she replied. "You played nice?"

"We came to an arrangement," Gold said. "You think that ungrateful hwun chiou would remember who it was that found his gorram lover for him."

Ishbel lifted her hand to stroke his cheek. "He's just afraid of what's coming," she said. "Got to say I don't blame him." She pushed herself upright in the chair. "We need to get back to your ship. I know your consoles better. Might be able to work something around the chip."

"The Seven..."

"Are trying to find the Lost ones," Ishbel said. "This is my problem. I can do it."

He searched her features, then nodded, offering his arm as support.

Compared to the echoing space of King's ship, Gold's little glittering bug of a ship seemed snug by comparison. It was strange how much it felt like home. The consoles buzzed and purred under her hands and she drew a breath, then plunged into the cortex.

Gold was working around her.

She didn't know what he was up to, but she thought he was secretly supervising in case she pushed herself too hard, too fast. He brought her cups of tea, and when she swayed at the panel, he was by her side in an instant, his hand at her shoulder.

The data, the intel, was rushing by her. She had pinpointed their current path of transit, and was searching out any signals, no matter how weak or strong, that seemed to be following the same course.

"You need to take a break," Gold said. "Ishbel, you're going to collapse again."

She shook her head. "Can't stop now," she said fiercely. Her hands were dancing across the screen, and they were shaking with exertion, but she had to keep going. "I've got it so close."

He rested his hands on her shoulders, kneading at the taut muscles. "You have?"

She nodded, nodding to a flickering screen, where screeds of code were untwining one by one. 

"I'm filtering out the impossible signals," she said. Her voice was shaking. She didn't know if it was nerves, exhaustion, light-headedness, or just outright fear. If she found it, if she traced it to its source, if she could crack the source, there was no saying it would work. It might even trigger something worse.

"Maybe we should get the Dreamer across here," Gold said.

She shook her head. "He's needed over there," she said, unravelling another strand of code, a commercial line, harmless. "Jefferson is good, but Dreamer is better. The two of them together should be able to find the Lost ones." She ran her hand over her eyes. "I don't want anyone else blamed if this goes wrong."

"Wrong?" Gold echoed, and she could feel the tension as his fingers bit into her shoulders. "What could go wrong?"

She looked up at him. "If you put a tracker in someone, would you leave it open to being cracked?" she asked. "If I've got the signal, if I try and trace it, there are going to be safeguards in place."

Gold looked up at the screen. "We need the signal to remain intact," he said, his hands tight on her shoulders. 

"Or gone," she said.

"We both know that isn't possible," he said. "Don't risk hurting yourself."

She put her hand up to his shoulder and squeezed it. "We do what we have to," she said, and linked into the most likely signal. Her heart was pounding rapidly, and she took a shaking breath. "I think we have it."

Gold's hands slid to her upper arms. "Carefully," he breathed. "Be very careful. She might have a hair trigger."

Ishbel nodded, biting her lip and gently sending a flicker of coding along the signal to see if it was possible to re-route the the tracker just a little. If a little worked, then a lot was possible.

Pain burst through her chest and she didn't even have a chance to cry out before the world went black.


	27. Chapter 27

Ishbel felt like Hell had run over her with a truck.

She breathed out slow and steady and heard voices, muffled and distant. It took a moment to get her eyes open and she squinted around at the blur of faces standing over her, searching out Gold among them.

“Hey,” she breathed when she spotted him. “We gotta stop meeting like this.”

He touched her hair. At least she assumed it was him. His hand was shaking and bandaged. “Don’t do that to me again,” he whispered, leaning over her. “I thought we’d lost you.”

Her arm felt heavy and limp, but she managed to lift it, her fingers clumsily sliding against his cheek. “M’okay,” she murmured. “Really.” She blinked slowly, trying to remember what had led her back to the med bay. “D’it work?”

Gold looked up at some of the other faces. She couldn’t make out their expressions, but one of them nodded. “We’ll be able to lead her where we need her to go,” he said, then looked back down at her. “But you’re out now. No more chance taken. We need to get you somewhere safe to heal.”

“But then chip…” she protested tiredly. 

“Taken care of.” Dreamer was the one who spoke. “It won’t be blowing up your heart any time soon, Ish.”

Ishbel laid her head back. “No more pain?”

“Only from the surgery,” Gold said, his hand resting on her brow, smoothing her hair. It was his hand and it was bandaged.

“You’re hurt,” she murmured.

“He took a tantrum.” Dreamer again. “Beat his hand off a panel.”

“He exaggerates,” Gold murmured without looking up. “I was worried. You were bleeding and there was nothing I could do.”

She felt her consciousness slipping away again. “Silly man,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I’m fine.”

It must have been hours later when she woke, because they were in the air. She could feel the hum of the engines down to her bones, and Gold was gone. She tilted her head to see Snow in a chair, propping herself against the wall, her eyes closed.

Ishbel shifted and one of the monitors hooked to her shrilled.

Snow’s eyes flew open and she was on her feet at once. 

“Sorry,” Ishbel murmured. 

“It’s okay,” Snow said, approaching the bed, running a hand over her face. “How are you feeling?”

Ishbel took stock. “Sore,” she finally decided. “Gold?”

“Wanted to take his own ship,” Snow said, leaning her hip against the bed Ishbel was resting on. “I think he needed some time alone to gather himself.”

Ishbel’s heart thumped and she gasped in pain, her hand jumping to her chest. “Something wrong?” she panted out.

Snow covered Ishbel’s hand quickly with her own. “Something right,” she said. “We’re on a rendezvous course with the Lost ones.”

Ishbel stared at her. “No.”

Snow smiled, but it was drawn and tired. Looked like she had slept as much as Gold in the last few days. “Took some persuasion from Dreamer, but they’ve agreed to meet on moon a little further into the neutral zone. Gold’s kid is in charge. He made contact with us. Wants to know exactly what’s going on, and if he doesn’t like it, he says he’ll make sure they can’t be found again.”

Ishbel stared blindly at the ceiling. “How’d he take it?”

“Gold? He didn’t say a word. Just stood and stared at the screen like he was seeing a ghost.” Snow exhaled. “His son didn’t even acknowledge him, even though he could see him standing right there.”

Ishbel snorted wearily. “You almost shot him,” she whispered. “His son’s just as upset.”

Snow looked down at her. “He’s still his kid,” she said quietly. “You’d be amazed what a kid will forgive.” She squeezed Ishbel’s hand. “It won’t be long until we get there. They’ve been tracking us, just like we’ve been tracking them. I think they want us off their tails.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Ishbel murmured. She closed her eyes for a moment, just concentrating on breathing. When she opened then again, she looked up at Snow. “I’m sorry I screwed up the tracker.”

A strange expression crossed Snow’s face, somewhere between startled and confused. “You weren’t meant to know,” she said with a brief, crooked smile. “At least this way, you won’t have to worry about your chest exploding.”

Ishbel squinted at her. “Meant to know it would knock me over again?” She shook her head slowly. “Nope. Should have. Operative likes her tricks.”

“Yeah,” Snow said, watching her. “Yeah, she does.”

Ishbel closed her eyes again. “Wake me when we get there?” she asked in a murmur. “I wanna meet them.”

“Of course,” Snow said softly. “Get some rest. We’ll need to be ready to move when they get here.”

Ishbel nodded briefly. “Trap,” she whispered. “Big trap.”

“Exactly,” Snow said.

The darkness came again, though in the distance, she was aware of people coming and going around her. She didn’t know if it was sleep or if they were medicating her so she wouldn’t feel the pain of her chest wound, but whatever it was, it was quiet and comfortable and dreamless.

When she woke at last, Gold was at her bedside, his hand resting lightly on hers.

He didn’t notice immediately that she was awake because he was speaking to someone else, standing out of her line of sight.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, after everything, but will you do it?”

“Why do they want her?” The voice was young, male, suspicious.

Gold’s hand tightened on Ishbel’s. “Because they think she knows how to find you,” he said, “and if they pushed her hard enough, they could be right.”

“Wrong,” Ishbel whispered.

Gold turned, startled, then smiled as she smiled drowsily at him. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, leaning closer to her. “We didn’t wake you, did we?”

She shook her head. “Slept too long,” she murmured. “Need less medicine.”

“Only if the pain isn’t too bad,” he said, squeezing her fingers. “How do you feel?”

She would have shrugged if she could, but settled for smiling crookedly. “Hole in my chest again,” she whispered. “Not great.” She jerked her head in the direction of the stranger. “You got a friend?”

He gazed at her, then looked up as the stranger approached the bed. 

She recognised him instantly from Dreamer’s console: Bay Lee.

“Hey,” he said with a smile was guarded as his father’s. “I’ve come to take you home.”


	28. Chapter 28

Ishbel didn’t know what was making her angrier: Gold’s presumption or the fact she had a gorram great chest wound that stopped her jumping up and shaking some sense into him. It felt like a bit of both and she knew she was breathing hard and it was making her chest burn.

“Tsai boo shr!” she said vehemently. “You don’t get to just package me up like garbage and ship me out.”

“Ishbel, you’ve almost died three times in the last week and a half,” Gold said, his voice taut and furious. “I’m not about to let you die.” 

“Who gave you leave to own me?” she snapped. “Am I your ship? Your possession? Your gorram pet?” She struggled up on her elbows, then up into a sitting position, one hand going to her bandaged chest. “You don’t tell me what to do, you arrogant hwun dahn!”

She swayed as a wave of dizziness washed over her and Gold caught her arms to keep her from falling. “Ishbel…”

She clutched at his arms, blinking hard. “Don’t think this makes me less mad,” she said, lifting her head to look at him. “I got you this far. You disconnecting me now? How can I help if you get me gone?”

His hands were tight on her upper arms, holding her steady, but stopping him shaking too. “I got you into this mess,” he said. “Let me get you out of it too. All the plans are in place. You don’t have anything left to do.”

She groped her way up his arms, until her hands were on his shoulders. “Don’t make me go again, Gold,” she whispered. “They took me away once. I don’t wanna go again.”

He searched her features, then looked sidelong at his son. “Can you give us a moment, son?” he asked quietly.

Bay was watching them and shrugged. “I’m stuck on-planet until you guys leave,” he said, his casual tone belied by the curiosity in his dark eyes. He had his father’s eyes, she noticed. Eyes that tried to hide everything, but that gave away a lot too. 

Ishbel watched him go, watched the door hiss closed behind him. “Good-looking boy,” she murmured.

“Takes after his mother,” Gold said. He touched her cheek gently, drawing her face back to his. “Ishbel, I’m not doing this to force you anywhere.” He leaned closer. “I’m doing this, because I need him out of the fight.”

Ishbel stared at him in confusion. “Him?”

“He’s the leader of the Lost ones,” he said quietly. “They’re not exactly known for sitting quietly in the sidelines when the people who have been hunting them are lured into a trap.” He glanced at the door, then continued to speak quietly, “His priority is getting his people safe, but if he had the chance to go against the Operative, he would take it. Let someone else lead his people and get himself killed and I…” He shook his head, his voice cracking. “Ishbel, I just got him back. I can’t watch him die.”

“Does he know you’re playing him?”

Gold looked chagrined. “I’m not,” he said. “I’m keeping both the people I love safe. You can help them like no one else can?”

“Oh yeah?” She looked at him sceptically. “How?”

Gold looked at her and for the briefest of moments, he smiled. “I want to keep the Lost ones hidden,” he said. “You have a brain in that pretty head of yours.”

“Yeah, and it’s out on a vacation with the pain killers,” she snorted.

He stroked her cheek gently. “Think how we first met.”

She stared at him, then it struck her. “The shield on the Frontlands? The on you gave us?”

He nodded. “It’s a blank spot on a planet as far as Alliance feeds can read it,” he said. “Just rock and dirt. It’s the last place anyone would look for the Lost ones, especially after what we’re going to do. We need to get all of them there, especially the kids, but the place is hidden and you know the buildings of the Frontlands blend into the landscape. They’d never find it alone.”

Ishbel nodded. 

Trouble with living in a desert planet meant buildings that could withstand dust storms and blazing heat. Most of them had ended up thick with sand after the first settlement and in the end, it was easier to pad the walls of the buildings out with sand to keep them snug. The whole settlement could have passed as a mess of little hills and dirt mounds to the naked eye.

Even if they flew over them, unless they knew what they were looking for, the Lost ones wouldn’t see the Frontland settlement unless a flare was sent up.

“This isn’t just about him,” she said. “You want me out of it too. Out of the way.”

“Out of danger,” he corrected, “in case it goes wrong.” He rested his brow against hers and exhaled shakily. “You’ve seen what she can do. The only way I can protect you and him and make sure the Alliance doesn’t find you again is to get you both under that shield.”

“And if it goes wrong?” she asked quietly, touching the back of his wrist. “What happens to you?”

One side of his mouth turned up. “I’ll get away,” he said. “I always do.”

She searched his face. “You want me to leave you to die,” she said. “Not going to happen.”

“The intent is not to die,” Gold said with that same crooked smile. “If everything goes as planned, then I’ll be able to find you once it’s all done with.”

She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “Promise?”

He tilted his head to kiss her palm. “Promise,” he said. “Right now, though, my priority is getting you and Bay both somewhere that you won’t be found or hurt again.” He scrutinised her. “Do you feel well enough to travel without medical support?”

“As long as I can lie down now and then, I’m good,” she replied. She leaned closer to claim a kiss. “If I do this, you’ll be careful? You’ll come home to me?”

He met her eyes. “Would I be welcome?”

“By me, definitely,” she said. “Anyway, it was your deal. You told me I had to go with you forever. You’re the one abandoning ship.” She slipped her arms around his neck and held him close. “If you want forever, it’ll be there waiting.”

All at once, he was holding her closer and she felt his cheek press against her hair.

“I’ll try my best,” he promised in a whisper. “I can’t do more than that.”

Ishbel’s fingers bit into his back. She didn’t want to let him go. If she did, if she accepted his plan, if she took his son with her, if she left him behind, there was every chance she would never see him again, even if he did survive their half-crazy plan.

“I love you,” she whispered. “And if you don’t come back to me, I’ll go out into the verse, find your gorram corpse and kill it again.”

He laughed, and she did, but they didn’t draw back from another, because she knew sure as hell that as much as she as fighting down tears, he would be too. 

This was goodbye and they both knew it, no matter how hard he tried. He believed it. She knew it. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and just held him, held him fast. “Try hard,” she whispered. “Try real hard.”


	29. Chapter 29

Bay Lee's ship was a small shuttle.

He had come alone to the rendezvous but even Ishbel - who wasn't big on ships - knew that it meant he had to have a bigger ship nearby. Nothing that small could have planet-hopped. Snow and King didn't ask, and Bay didn't say anything about where it was.

Doc and Dreamer were the ones to transport Ishbel into Bay's shuttle, carrying her on a lightweight stretcher. She had tried standing up, but the effort and the pain in her chest had almost brought her to her knees.

It hurt more than the last time she was patched up, but Doc said it was just because the chip had burned her heart. Not enough to do lasting damage, he said, and they had patched what they could, but it would leave her in pain until it healed.

Ishbel muttered rude things about the Operative under her voice as Bay helped her into one of the seats in the small shuttle.

He snorted in amusement at a particularly colourful phrase. "The old man said you have a way with words," he said, kneeling down to fasten her in, arranging a soft pad between her chest and the straps. 

"I get more colourful when some puo foo sticks cables into my chest and makes me a homing beacon," she admitted. "My baba would be mad as hell if he heard me usin' words like that. He's got it in his head I'm still his baby."

"Fathers try to see the best, don't they?" He rocked back on his heels.

She reached out and caught his arm. "Kids can too," she said. He looked at her hand, then her face, and rose abruptly, disappearing into the cockpit. Ishbel closed her eyes, breathing in shallowly.

She heard the tap of Gold's cane on the gridding of the floor several moments later and opened her eyes with a wan smile. 

"Come to make sure I'm on board?" she murmured.

"You do have a habit of being stubborn," he replied, approaching her. She reached out and he took her hand in his, squeezing her fingers. "You'll see them safe?"

"Safe as houses," she promised. She tugged on his hand and he leaned down to kiss her gently. She brushed the tip of her nose against his, and met his gaze. "I'll see you soon."

He nodded curtly, and she knew it was because he didn't want the last thing he said to her to be a lie. He straightened up as Bay emerged from the cockpit.

"Get her home intact," he said quietly. "That's all I'm asking."

Bay nodded, his arms folded over his chest. "Don't do anything stupidly heroic, baba," he said. He was silent for a moment, then added quietly, "I'd kind of like to get to know this new you."

Gold made a small, pained sound, and stepped towards his son. They crashed together with almost violent force, the embrace hard and tight. "I'm sorry, son," he breathed. "I'm so sorry."

Ishbel averted her eyes.

It was something private that she didn't need to see. 

Both men shied back when bootsteps echoed on the ramp. Ishbel looked towards the door as Jefferson ducked into the shuttle.

"We ready to go?" he inquired, throwing himself down into one of the other seats.

Gold and his son exchanged a look.

"Be careful," Bay said.

"You too," Gold said. "You and your people will be safe in the Frontlands. No one will find you there. I made sure of that."

Bay nodded once, stepping back as his father retreated from the shuttle. Ishbel didn't know whether to be pleased or saddened that Gold didn't look back at her. It was to make it easier for both of them, she knew, but it didn't stop the tears from falling.

It wasn't until they were in the air, heading in the direction of the Lost ones' ship that Jefferson pushed out of his seat and dropped himself into the one beside Ishbel. He offered her his handkerchief.

"You'll be okay," he said.

"I'm not worried about me," she said, wiping her eyes.

Jefferson patted her on the knee. "You must be the first," he said. He rose and headed into the cockpit, leaving her resting her head back against the side of the cabin. She could hear the two men talking quietly, and forced herself to breathe deep and calm.

By the time they reached the Lost Ones' ship, her eyes were dry and clear.

Instead, Jefferson was the one who was on edge, pacing this way and that as the shuttle came into dock within the ship. Ishbel felt the grapplers lock in place. Any second now, the airlock would seal and they would be given access to the ship. Jefferson looked like he was about to climb the walls. 

"Your daughter?" Ishbel guessed.

Jefferson nodded, smoothing his hands down his ragged jacket, then thrusting them into his pockets. "It's been five years," he said, his voice trembling. "What if she doesn't remember me? What if she doesn't recognise me?"

"She will," Bay said. He emerged from the cockpit and approached the doors. He offered Jefferson a quick half-smile. "She's already waiting for you." He hit several buttons on the panel by the door, which hissed open. Ice and steam misted the doorway, but beyond it, a child's voice called out.

"Baba?"

Jefferson's face went white. "Grace," he whispered, running down the ramp. He slipped halfway, falling and skidding down, but he had barely rolled to a halt at the bottom when a small figure leapt on him. 

"Baba! It is you!"

Bay braced his hand against the doorframe, watching them. "Think they'll be okay?" he asked quietly without looking at Ishbel.

"He just needs a chance to make amends," Ishbel replied. She undid the buckles of her straps and breathed deeply. "He might have been Alliance once, but he's not anymore."

Bay glanced at her with a tired smile. "That's what I thought," he said. He approached her and bent, scooping her up in his arms like a child. "Let's get you on deck and you can show us our course."

The ship was surprisingly large, but clearly cobbled together by skilled techs. It wasn't any style Ishbel recognised, but it looked like it had been upgraded, improved, and was cleaner and brighter than Gold's own little ship. 

The corridors were bustling with people, not a one of them over the age of thirty. Bay seemed to be the oldest, and they nodded and called out to him in greeting.

"How many of you are there?" Ishbel asked, looking around.

"Close to thirty," Bay said. "We're the ones who wanted to keep moving. There were more when we had a settlement, but there were too many eyes, and the ones who were in the most danger came here. We watch out for our own. Find them. Keep them safe." He paused, looking down at her. "My father said the shield on your planet will be protection for all of us. Why did he set it up?"

Ishbel smiled crookedly. "To keep us hidden from reavers," she replied. It felt like a lifetime ago since she sent the message out. "I worked for him to pay for it." She looked up at him. "To find you."

Bay stared at her for a moment, then continued up towards the cockpit. "I find that hard to believe," he said. 

"I'm a cortex-skimmer," Ishbel murmured. "He wanted me to find what he had lost, read the code that he couldn't. Even broke open a tracker to give me access to your markers." She smiled tiredly. "And he found you, because I got caught up in things that were bigger than me."

They emerged into the cockpit of the ship. "I left the beacon for him to tell him to stop looking," Bay murmured, setting her down in one of the pilot seats. "I had too many people I needed to protect. I couldn't let my own..." He shook his head. "My people were my priority."

"And yet, here you are."

"Here I am," he agreed, "leaving him setting on his way to lead the Operative into a trap with the leader of the survivors of Leopold and the son of George King." He shook his head. "It's been a pretty weird day."

Ishbel leaned forward, looking over the pilot consoles. She spotted the navigation controls and started tapping in the details of their destination. "Once this is all over, I'll be glad to get the gorram tracker out of my chest," she admitted. "I know the chip's useful for them, but nothing like a ticking timebomb that could go off at any moment. At least they found a way to re-route the signal."

"What signal?"

Both Bay and Ishbel turned at Jefferson's voice. He was standing in the doorway with Grace, who was holding his hand. She was a pretty girl of about fourteen.

"Just the chip," Ishbel said. "No big deal." She smiled at Grace. "Hey."

Grace smiled shyly. "You're in my seat."

Ishbel's eyes widened in surprise. "You're the pilot?"

"Best we have," Bay said proudly, bending to lift Ishbel into the other seat. "Sorry, Grace. We were just setting the destination for you."

Grace settled in the seat, her father standing behind her, looking both proud and astonished. "Is that the safe place?" she asked, looking at the screen. "You're taking us where they can't find us?"

"It'll hide all of us," Ishbel assured her. "Even me."

Jefferson glanced at her. "Why would you be so special?"

Ishbel gave him a look. "Chip. Heart. Tracker. These things sound familiar?"

"Well, yeah," Jefferson said. "If they hadn't taken it out."

Ishbel felt like the air was sucked out of her. "What? They said it couldn't be removed. That it had to be imbedded in someone to keep from exploding."

Jefferson stared at her. "You mean someone like Gold?"

The world swam. 

"What?" she whispered.

"He wasn't going to let you die," Jefferson said, shaking his head. "Didn't you wonder about the cut on his hand? Didn't you wonder why they told you not to try and play wth it again?"

Ishbel staggered to her feet, fury and panic vying for attention. "Bay..."

"On it," he said grimly, plucking Grace from the seat and sliding into it himself. "You know where they were headed?"

Ishbel nodded, stumbling over to lean heavily on his shoulder. "I can find the tracker, if Jefferson's right. We can track them the same way the Operative is." 

"You had orders," Jefferson said. "What about getting Grace, the others, to safety?"

Bay spun on the chair. "You tell me to leave my father to die and I drop you out of the airlock," he snarled.

"You selfish son of..."

"Bizui!" Ishbel exclaimed, slapping her hand against the back of the chair. "Jefferson, you got what you want. Now get the hell out of here. We need to stop him."

Jefferson stared at them in disgust, but took Grace by the hand and led her out of the cockpit.

It was the worst trip Ishbel had ever been on. They were already half a day behind Snow, King, and Gold, and the ship was nowhere near as fast as any of the ships they were making to follow. 

It gave them time, time to try and figure ways to get rid of the tracker without killing Gold or any of them, but no matter what they thought of, no matter what they desperately hoped for as a way out, wasn't enough. If they tried to remove it without another subject to transplant it into, he and they could all be ashes and dust in seconds.

In the end, it all came down to the need to know what had happened.

The hours, the days, crawled by. Ishbel and Bay never left the cockpit. He set up a small bunk for her and they took turns sitting in the pilot's seat, watching for incoming ships, watching for messages. 

She was resting on the bunk when they finally came up on the planet. She heard Bay cursing softly, shakily, and lifted her head. With effort, she managed to struggle to her feet and made her way across the floor.

"What is it?"

Bay nodded out of the window at the planet that she remembered as shimmering grey.

The whole planet looked like it was burning.

Ishbel's legs trembled beneath her. "We're too late," she whispered.


	30. Chapter 30

Ishbel hit the consoles and hit them hard.

They had followed the tracker, but the signal was erratic, which she'd put down to the crazy chemistry of the planet. It was thready, but it was there. Now, it was gone. It had cut off like a blown-out candle.

Her hands were shaking and she could feel her eyes burning, but she went deeper, deeper, and nothing. It was gone. The signal was completely gone.

"We need to move," Bay said. His voice sounded as shaken as she felt. "Got eyes on a ship. It's out of signal range, but it's Alliance."

Ishbel's hands fell still on the console. The signal was gone. He was gone.

"We got to get these people to safety," she said without turning. "Run. Fast. Get that kid up here and run."

Bay grabbed the radio, snapping orders, and Ishbel retreated back from the console to the bunk, sinking down to sit on the threadbare mattress. Her legs were trembling, and for once, the pain in her chest seemed to have faded to nothing.

An arm fell around her shoulder a moment later and she looked up into Bay's face. He looked like he had aged a dozen years in as many minutes. She couldn't speak. Didn't really need to. She just leaned into him and put her arm around his middle.

Grace was at the controls, taking them back into the verse, and Ishbel closed her eyes, just trying to keep breathing. 

"He always was an ass," Bay finally whispered, his voice breaking.

"Big one," Ishbel agreed. She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling his heart beating underneath it. "He wanted us safe. We'll be safe."

That seemed to be the thought that kept them going, flying across the blackness of space until they reached Ishbel's home planet. Jefferson stayed with Grace as she flew them on, and Ishbel rested and healed, while Bay resumed his command of the refugees.

It was only when they were coming in over the planet that Ishbel ventured back to the cockpit.

She was tired. She felt drained. 

As good as it felt to see the surface of her homeworld, all she could think of was the way she had left it, the company she had kept for so many months, the man who had used himself as bait to fool the Alliance into thinking their enemies had gone up in flames. 

"Which way do we go?" Grace asked, looking up at her.

Ishbel looked down at the surface of the unmapped planet. No one from the Alliance had ever given a good gorram about it. They had dumped the ex-Browncoats and left them in the dust, hardly even checking in on them. They didn't even have ships to go anywhere beyond orbit.

"There's the Sea of Indignity," she said, tapping the image project on the console.

"Cute name," Bay murmured.

"Baba picked it," Ishbel replied. "Head in that direction, and get low enough for us to see the landscape. I can tell you where to go from there, when I can see the landmarks."

It took a few more hours for them to find the way to the settlement.

They couldn't be sure where the edge of the shield was, but as soon as they were within it, the coded consoles lit up like Christmas. 

"How much of this is under the shield?" Bay asked wonderingly.

Ishbel rested her arms on the back of Grace's seat. "Couple of hundred square miles, if he wasn't exaggerating," she said. She leaned over to one of the radios as it buzzed, tapping in a local code. "This is Ishbel French," she said. "If you can hear me, clear the landing zone. We have incoming."

The landing was smooth as ice, and Ishbel stood by the main doors as the landing ramp hissed down. Her father was standing there, looking thinner and greyer than he had when she left, but he was there, and he was alive, and she walked blindly down the ramp and into his arms. 

The first days after their arrival seemed a haze.

She watched the new arrivals settle. She watched them trying to remember what it was to be part of a world where they walked on solid ground and breathed unfiltered air and drank water drawn fresh from a well. They were wary, scared, but one by one, they remembered how to smile. 

It didn't make it all feel worth it, but it made it feel better. 

Bay stayed close by.

That helped.

Some evenings, they would just sit together by a fire, under the open sky. She told him stories of things the Skinner had done. He told her about his childhood with his father on Osiris. Together, they put together a man that both of them had known in pieces, but never the whole. 

It was near two months before things changed.

Ishbel was teaching some of the kids about cortex sifting when Bay ran into the building that served as a schoolhouse. He looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Ish, I need you to come and get a read on a signal we just picked up."

Ishbel rose at once. She wasn't up to full strength, but all told, she didn't think she could get much better. Her chest still ached when she tried to work too hard, but given the scars all over it, better to be standing and hurting than in the dirt.

"Did it come through the security feed?"

Bay shook his head, taking her by the hand. "You're not going to believe it," he said, leading her through the settlement to the caverns that served as the port. His ship, one of the bigger ones, sat near the entrance, and she looked at him.

"Something came through on the ship?"

He nodded. "It looks like it's been tracking from orbit for a few days," he said. "I only heard it when I came up to get some parts for the shuttle."

"Tracking...?" Ishbel's hand tightened on his. "Bay, the beacon. The one you left..."

He didn't look back at her, but he squeezed her hand hard. "I need you to look. I can't get a read."

Ishbel almost overtook him on the way to the cockpit and the main consoles. They were dusty now, hardly used, but her hands flew across them, seeking out the source of the signal. There was a coded lock on it, but it was nothing that Nova couldn't unscramble, and the screen flickered, an image coming into focus.

Ishbel swayed in her seat.

Bay was leaning on the back of the seat. "Baba?"

Gold looked back at them through the screen. He looked haggard and exhausted, but he was smiling. "So you are there," he said hoarsely. "Do you mind giving an old man directions? I'm running low on water."

Ishbel nodded, trembling, sending up the coordinates. "We'll meet you there," she said.

"You'd better," he said. The signal cut out and the camera went dark.

Ishbel stared blankly at the screen, then looked up at Bay. "The planet was burning. The signal, the chip. It was on the planet. How...?"

"We can ask him that," Bay said, offering her his hand, a smile breaking across his face.

They ran out of the ship as fast they could, and when Ishbel flagged, her chest aching, Bay bent down and hoisted her up onto his back, running in the direction of the landing grounds. The sun was blazing down, and for a good while, it didn't look like anyone was coming, but all at once, a shadow seemed to emerge from the sun, and Ishbel cried out, pointing up, as it descended.

It wasn't the infamous glittering golden bug the Skinner had arrived in. It wasn't even the sleek hi-tech craft that King and Snow had tended towards. It was a ship that look like it was held together with spit and anger, and it didn't so much land as plummet, the landing struts crumpling under it as it hit the ground.

"Always with the big entrances," Ishbel said, half-laughing, half-sobbing, as they hurried towards it. 

The hatch opened and Gold emerged, blinking, into the daylight. The weight had shrunk from his bones, and his face was hollow and thin, but his eyes lit up as Ishbel ran to him, closely followed by Bay.

For a long moment, they were just a tangle of arms, holding tight to one another, but that was when Ishbel noticed just what was missing.

She drew back, looking down at his left hand. Or where his left hand once was. "The tracker," she said, taking his wrist gently in her hands. 

"She gave me a bomb," Gold said with a wan smile. "It seemed sensible to use it at the opportune moment." He met her eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, love. You would have killed me."

She gave him a stern look. "I still might," she said. "We came after you. Saw the planet burning."

Gold grimaced. "It didn't quite go to plan. The backlash took out all communications, almost took down Snow's ship." He drew her closer again, Bay on his other side. "But we got out. Eventually. Took some trickery." He breathed in deeply. "Now, though, water? I've been waiting for you to pick up my signal for a fortnight. Couldn't land, couldn't change course, in case I missed you."

Ishbel nodded, slipping her arm around his waist. "No more running off on heroic suicide missions?"

"We'll wreck his ship," Bay said. "He's not going anywhere."

"Wreck it?" Ishbel said, looking at the rickety mess. "More than it is already?"

Gold snorted. "I was meant to be incognito," he reminded them. "Worn out ships don't get attention."

"Yeah," Bay said, "and they drop you out of the sky."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Gold said with a huff of indignation, but he was smiling. Tired and worn and drawn, but smiling like he'd just got everything he wanted. "I'm with my son, and the woman I love. That rustbucket got me here."

"Just don't tell me you want it framed and mounted in the house as a souvenir," Bay said.

"Is this what I've signed up for?" Gold asked, looking between them. "Two people who will taunt me mercilessly?"

Ishbel smothered a giggle, leaning happily into him. "It's not like we put a gun to your head," she said. She leaned up and kissed his stubbled cheek. "Welcome home."

"Home?" he said, looking at her, hope and wonder in his expression.

She nodded with a smile. "Our home."


End file.
